Point-Blank, a Dempsey and Makepeace fan fiction
by bevhardy
Summary: Story set before they become a couple. Harry and Dempsey had not seen each other for 7 long years because of one accidental mistake. Now Dempsey is back in the UK and needs Harry's help to solve a crime. Can he persuade her to return to police work, and that the American she is thinking of marrying is not the right American?
1. Chapter 1

This story has no connection to my other Dempsey and Makepeace stories, and they have not developed a romantic relationship yet. Dempsey left the UK not long after Guardian Angel. Just thought I'd try something different. Not sure how it will turn out as I haven't written any Dempsey and Makepeace stories for years, but here goes. Another chapter to post later tonight.

Point-Blank.

"You know there's a woman out here waitin' to see you Dempsey?" a scruffy, unshaven looking man in his late fifties said, popping his face around the office door.

Dempsey lifted his head and ran a weary hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know Sid."

The problem was, what was he going to say to Mrs Jackson this time? Sure, he needed the money she was prepared to pay him for finding that woman, but something wasn't right. She had been cagey about what she wanted with the woman. What was worse, he had strong suspicions that Mrs Jackson had previously been dealing with the Borelli's, the family that he had been trying to bring to justice for the last seven years! How ironic.

But what choice did he have? He had to bring down the Borelli's for Danny. He'd been like a younger brother to Dempsey. Dempsey had always looked out for him. And if only he had got back to New York quicker...before they got to him...who knows? But he hadn't got back in time, damn it, so now the least he could do was to stop the animals who had killed Danny, and scores of other men like him. It wasn't even so much the thought of taking money off Mrs Jackson ... money that was most probably tainted with blood if it had come via the Borelli's. After all, what better justice to have their money pay for their own downfall. But that wasn't it, it was the thought of what they were going to do to this poor woman once Dempsey had found her for them.

Taking on private clients like this was a profitable business, and he needed the money to fund his investigations into the Borelli's, but he hadn't bargained on having to deal with so many heartless lowlives in the process. Trying to bring down the most notorious family in New York was a costly business, but taking on the kind of private clients that reared their ugly heads in this part of town was taking it's toll on his conscience too.

Dempsey sighed again and swivelled on his chair to gaze out over the city below him. He leant back into the brown, worn out leather of his seat and threw his feet up onto the window ledge, letting the scene before him come into focus, like a polaroid photograph. He narrowed his eyes as he scanned them suspiciously across the city, as if hoping to uncover something there and then that would finally, once and for all, help him to bring down the Borelli's. It was useless. How was he to know whether Jackson was working with the Borelli's? Simply because the whole damn city were! It was a web of corruption that had spread so far, and become so entangled that Dempsey was seriously questioning his ability to untangle it.

A loud knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts and he swung around to see Mrs Jackson striding purposefully across his office.

"Noabody messes wid me Mr Dempsey. You wanna keep me waitin' again some more, eh?" she slurred, planting her hands on his desk and glowering angrily down at him.

A great waft of alcohol hit him as she swayed towards him. At close quarters, he could see more clearly the evidence of multiple plastic surgeries on her face: the overly taught skin distorting her features and the attempts to balance that out with Botox and God knows what other forms of plastic. He wondered whose lives had been ruined to provide the dough for those kinds of luxuries. And what a waste; she looked so incredibly fake: an ugly, brash contorted fake. A bitter and twisted woman hell bent on revenge. No integrity. Heartless... For a second, he became aware then of where his train of thought was heading yet again. To the woman who was the complete and utter polar opposite of this woman, or to anyone in that godforsaken place for that matter.

"I know some guys who would bust your cahonies jus' for makin' me wait. You don't know who you're messin' with," she added.

"Oh, don't I!" he snapped back, springing off his chair and creating a loud, uncomfortable screeching noise as the metal chair legs scraped across the floor. The sudden sound and commotion visibly shocked the woman for a second. Okay, so he had already made up his mind he was not taking on her case, but the last thing he needed now was some woman like her making trouble for him. He lightened his tone. "Look, sorry, I can't find anyone for you right now. I'm workin' on somethin' else. Sorry for wasting your time," he said, turning around dismissively.

"You what?" she screeched, before beginning to laugh, a loud and mocking sound. "No can do Mr Dempsey..."

He turned slowly, crossing his arms, observing her with distaste.

"Tony sent me. You got till Friday to find her. You're workin' for them now, or they'll come for you, and believe me, they know where you are." She looked satisfied with her parting shot and turned to leave.

Dempsey had her by the arm in seconds and swung her around, pinning her to the wall.

"Now you listen lady," he said, jabbing a finger into her shoulder, "You can tell Tony and Roberto from me, and quote, even if every gang in New York is lookin' to tear me to shreds before, after or in-between, I don't care, because you see, I've made a lifetime obsession out of bringing the Borelli's down, and I ain't afraid to die to do it!" he hollered.

Jackson became silent, for once. Her eyes shot resentment into Dempsey's, but she was too wary to voice it.

He let go of his grip suddenly and turned from her once more.

"Get outta here," he shouted, over his shoulder.

She turned and darted to the office door, opening it, but pausing before she left.

"You're making a big mistake Mr Dempsey," she said.

Then he heard the door slam and she was gone.

He spent the next fifteen or so minutes trashing his office. At some point he was vaguely aware of the door opening and Sid cautiously peering into the room. He said something to Dempsey, what, he wasn't sure, for he was so enraged that the sound of furniture crashing around the room drowned out Sid's voice. Seconds later, the door closed and no one bothered him after that.

Finally, exhausted, both physically and emotionally, he waded through the carnage, sought out his office chair, upturned it and sunk into its leather. He sat amongst the wreckage, in darkness; all the light bulbs had been smashed. Swirling around in his chair, he flung his feet up onto the window ledge and stared out at the city below him.

x

An hour later, after half a bottle of whisky and a lot of soul searching, Dempsey had made a decision, one which he had been contemplating more and more over the last few months: he was going back. He had to, or he would be dead in days. Besides, it was about time he found Harry once and for all and had it out with her about what had happened when he'd left.

He had to make her realise it was a mistake. How was he to know that leaving for just a few weeks, would mean that by the time he went back, there'd be no job for him at SI10? He'd told Spikings about Danny, and how Danny was a dead man if he hadn't gone to New York to help him. Boy had he been right about that! Okay, so he should have made that phone call to Spikings, and to Harry, before he'd left, rather then two days after, but his mind had only been on getting back before they got to Danny. He'd thought they would understand once they knew the situation. But Harry had refused to even speak to him when Spikings had tried to pass the phone to her, so how could he explain if she wouldn't let him?

Then had come the sickening realisation of just what a mistake he had made. He'd found that out when he'd flown back to the UK two weeks later.

Just one phone call before he had left, one lousy phone call, and the bureaucrats would have had no authority to send him back for good. It would have been down to Spikings to grant him leave. But he hadn't made that phone call, from the right place, at the right time, and so it was out of Spikings's hands. That was what had come between him and his life in the UK, a life he was more than happy with, a life he was not ready to give up. Then the second bomb had dropped. Harry had gone... left SI10. Spikings had said something dumb about her saying she'd made the right decision when she'd left SI10 the first time. He knew she was fuming at him, but he'd tried to find her to explain. She'd done a great job of dropping off the map! Where the hell had she gone?

Then Spikings had been on his back about him having to get on a plane pronto before he was arrested for being illegal, but Spikings had promised he would explain to Harry...get her to phone him. By about the end of the first year in New York, he had finally stopped hoping for a call. Besides, he was far to deeply involved in the whole Borelli mess by then to hope for anything else. By that time, the Borelli's were everything in his life; what else did he have?

Still, there had been many times late at night in that dismal office of his, when he'd looked out over the city and drifted back to the SI10 years. He'd see Harry in his head and drive himself nuts wondering what she was doing at that very moment. Then he'd remember some of their conversations, the jokes, the teasing, even the shouting matches. But the good memories had been tainted with regret. He'd never even got to kiss her, not properly anyway, not the way he'd imagined over and over for years since he'd first met her. And his imaginings had grown in those days, and become more detailed as time went by. During long sleepless nights, on cases that had eaten away at him, he'd picture her in bed across town... and him with her... and what he would do and say, and how she would give in to him completely...and he'd burned with frustration which had continued well into the morning, and simmered as he'd sat at his desk across from her. But everything had been so cruelly and suddenly cut short, and any opportunity he'd had was, without warning, taken away from him. He'd always truly believed that somehow, someday he'd know what it would be like to be in that bed with her, to wake up with her, and in between, to make all his imaginings a reality.

Maybe he'd always been kidding himself. Still, if he was going back, he was going to find her. He just had to.


	2. Chapter 2

"It's a fine, fine day!" Dempsey sang to himself, in the rented convertable. Finally he had untangled himself from the inner city traffic and found the freedom that the more rural B road afforded him. For once, the weather was wonderfully warm in London, and he could feel the strength of the sun on his head and shoulders. The sunshine only enhanced his good mood. It was as though England was welcoming him back. He tried to think of a time when he had enjoyed the sun in New York lately. He used to before, he was sure. He'd enjoyed going to Central Park, particularly for a picnic with a sexy woman... lying on a blanket next to her... glasses of wine... wondering if he was going to get lucky later that evening. But that was before his vandetta against the Borelli's had taken up every minute of his waking day...before it was dangerous to do something as simple as go on a picnic... before the only women he met were loud and brash and only really cared about money and power... before he had ever even come to the UK... a lifetime ago.

Now, for the first time in what seemed like another lifetime, he felt completely free. Why the hell hadn't he done this sooner? Okay, he had wanted to avenge Danny, but seven years was too long. He loved Danny as a brother, but... if the Borelli's hadn't sent Mrs Jackson, he wasn't sure how much longer he'd have lasted the way he was going in New York anyway, just because he had been slowly losing his sanity. For seven long years he had lived in a kind of limbo which never afforded him any kind of pleasures in life. Now, just the sound of the birds in the trees, the smell of freshly cut grass and even the sounds of the hoity-toity Brit accents in the airport had made him smile. Who would have thought it? He loved England... absolutely loved it! He had felt like kissing the ground once he got off that plane. He had even stopped to buy a London Times and a scotch egg from a newsagents... he never _had_ been able to find scotch eggs in New York. And now, he was going to find Harry. He had no idea how a first meeting after seven years would go, but he was in such a good mood that it had to go right. Everything was falling into place for him...at last.

As Dempsey got out of the car, and headed for the entrance of the country club, he told himself that she may well not be there that afternoon. How often did members go to English country clubs anyway? At least he knew for sure that she was still a member there. Good old Sid had his uses. For such a basic old man, he had learnt a surprising amount about using the internet and, for once, it had proved helpful for Dempsey in finding Harry before he'd left New York. Where she was living now, however, was a mystery, but he knew that she hadn't been living at her old house since he'd returned to find her seven years ago. Maybe he'd have to get information off someone there who knew her, although he suspected that people might be reluctant to give out that kind of information. He'd find a way though.

Then again, maybe she would be there; Sid had said that her name was down on all number of organizations related to the club, so she must be there quite a lot. His heart began quickening the closer he got to the entrance at the thought of actually seeing her again that very day. Then an unsettling thought entered his head; what if, God forbid, she was with her husband...or children! Why hadn't he thought of that? How awkward would that be? He paused at the entrance. Maybe he hadn't thought this thing through properly. What should he do?

He was seriously considering turning around and leaving, when a young couple suddenly emerged through the front doors, passing him with questioning looks.

"Afternoon," he smiled, strolling past them and finally entering. He had come here to see her; he couldn't leave now. Besides, maybe she had done him and his libido a favour and grown fat and ugly?

The interior was considerably cooler and darker, compared to the bright sunshine he had left outside. The club was set in one of those old, historic buildings, like Dempsey had sometimes seen on the History Channel when he'd flicked through to find something interesting to watch in the evenings, and stopped to see if they would show somewhere in England that he'd been to. It looked like most of the stuff in there, the rugs, paintings, chairs and tables, were antiques. Harry loved all that kind of stuff.

Dempsey scanned the reception area, which only had a few people wandering through it, apart from a small group of people at the desk who were chatting to the receptionist. He saw no signs of Harry there and so move swiftly past the reception area to the sunnier garden room, with patio windows which opened onto the lawn at the back. He remembered this place from before. They had used the extensive outer premises for all kinds of wierd and wonderful English sporting activities. Today however, most people seemed to be sitting at the white, wrought iron tables and chairs arranged on the lawn, and enjoying afternoon snacks.

Dempsey couldn't help but smile as he observed the scene. He'd been transported from something out of "American Gangster" to something out of a Jane Austen novel! Okay, so he was starting to stand out now. He'd sit at one of those tables and order something; give himself a chance to talk to the waitress or someone about Harry.

It was as he walked across the lawn, heading for one of the empty tables, that his eyes picked out a head of blonde hair amongst the diners and his heart did a little leap of hope. The head turned, and once in profile, he realized in an instant that it was her. Adrenalin coursed through him, freezing him to the spot when, for one moment, he thought she had seen him. She turned again however, back to the man she was sitting with. Damn. That could be awkward. He was hoping to find her alone, or with friends. Then again, of couse she would have been with a guy; he should have expected that. Well, he'd come that far, he may as well see it through. He'd take a seat and wait for her to spot him. Then he'd have time to judge her reaction.

x

"Did you see Eddie's face when he lost that last game?" Harry laughed.

The tall, blonde man sitting across the table from Harry laughed with her. "Sure. He was almost as suprised as Linda was for winnin'," he replied in a strong American accent.

Harry closed her eyes and shook her head, bursting into laughter again. "I can just see his wiggle as he rolled his ball across the green."

"And his expression when Linda knocked the jack out," the man added.

"Who'd have thought a few games of bowls could be so much fun," she giggled.

"Yeah, it is when they're playin'."

Harry finished her glass of champage and placed it on the table in front of her, folding her arms on the table top. "Well Richard, I can honestly say that I haven't laughed so much in a long time. Thanks for today," she smiled.

"No problem," he replied, searching her face thoughtfully. "Oh what the hell," he said suddenly standing up.

Harry watched with dismay as he pulled a small, black box out of his trouser pocket and got down on one knee.

Not again! How many times did she have to make excuses for turning him down? He was persistant, she had to give him that. Maybe she should just give in and accept. Hmm, no, she wasn't ready for marriage again... not now anyway.

"Harry..." he began.

"Richie," she interrupted, covering her hands with his and closing the box in the process, "we've had quite a lot to drink today; maybe this isn't the right time." Richie's smile slowly faded. Harry felt awful, but she just wasn't ready to accept, as much as she did like being with him. "You might change your mind when you sober up tomorrow," she joked. Okay, that didn't work. "Im sorry," she said, withdrawing her hands. "Please don't be upset."

"Who me?" he shrugged, standing up again, brushing off his trouser leg and taking his seat once more. "Never. But I'll ask you again you know. And I won't stop until you say yes."

She smiled reassuringly at him. "We could have one more glass of champagne though," she said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Why not?" he smiled back.

Harry turned then to summon a waitress and that was when she saw_ him._

What? No, she must be seeing things; too much champagne.

She abandoned her effort to order the champagne and turned back to Richie, her face swiftly losing its colour.

"You alright?" he asked, placing a hand on her arm.

She cleared her throat. "Err, yes, urm..." She turned her head quickly to see if she had just been imagining things, but no. The rest of the colour left her face. It was_ him_. He was looking straight at her. She swung her head back.

"Harry, what's up?" Richie asked.

"Well, it's just that," her head turned again, just in case she had in fact been wrong.

Dempsey gave her a small wave of his fingers.

No, it was definately him.

"Harry?"

She shook her head. "Sorry Richie, there's someone sitting over there..." she gestured towards Dempsey, "He used to be my partner... when I was working in the police force. I haven't seen him for years. In fact, he should be in New York..."

"Oh," Richie turned to look.

"Anyway, what were we saying?" Harry went on, trying to refocus.

"Champagne?"

"Oh yes." She turned again, but again caught sight of Dempsey, who waved yet again.

She growled and turned back to Richie. "I'm so sorry, but he obviously wants something and he's not the kind of person to just go away. Would you mind..."

Richie smiled, seeming not to be affected by her request. "No, go speak to him. I'll see if I can order that champagne."

"Thanks Richie. I'll not be long," she replied, taking a deep breath before rising out of her seat and beginning the nerve racking walk towards Dempsey.

x

A sudden strange sensation shot through the pit of Dempsey's stomach as he watched Harry stand and walk towards him. He'd forgotten what an impact just the sight of her could sometimes have. He'd seen the effect in other people too. She drew attention to her with her poise, figure and looks... and something else, something which just made it impossible for people not to look. One thing was for sure, she was nowhere near to being fat and ugly... he'd known she wouldnt be... and he was very much afraid for his libido at that moment! But he wasn't going to think about that. He wasn't going to think about the way her hips swayed as she walked... about the knockout white dress she was wearing that clung to her waist and hips and stopped above the knee, exposing a smooth pair of tanned Harry legs... or about the way, as she got closer still, he could see that the material fell in folds and dipped daringly down her front... and that, although nothing was exposed beneath the folds, the fun of the dress was to wonder how the folds stayed strategically placed so as not to revel a single thing. Did she do that on purpose, or was she just a natural tease without knowing it?

What the hell was he doing there? And how dare he be looking at her like that, making her feel all strange again... her legs all jelly-like. Damn it, he was watching every step she made, and in the most sinful of ways. Couldn't he see what was happeneing just now; she was about to become engaged... wasn't she? Well, anyway, he wasnt to know that she hadnt made up her mind yet. What right had he to look her up and down like that, in that slow, arrogant, Dempsey way of his? She'd forgotten about Dempsey's looks. Nobody she had ever known had looked at her like that, in such an outrageous way. Nobody else had that much cheek! He hadn't changed one bit... but she had. She had moved on. She had a new life now and she was happy with it thank you very much. If he thought he could come back as if nothing had changed and pick up where they left off, he was very much mistaken. Anyway, there was no reason for them to see each other now as they were no longer work colleagues, so that was an end to it.

She stopped in front of his table and placed her hands on her hips.

Wow! It was most definately Harry... in all her upper class, sexy, a little annoyed and boardering on sexually frustrated, glory.

"Hiyya Harry," he grinned, lifting the tea cup in front of him to his lips and taking a sip, whilst his eyes continued to assess her with interest. Apart from her hair, which was now shoulder length, smoother and sleeker, she looked exactly the same.

"Dempsey... what?" she began, holding out her hands as she found herself suddenly speechless.

"What?" he echoed.

She shook her head to clear it. This was absurd. He was sitting there as if seven years had been seven minutes since the last time they saw eachother.. as if it was perfectly normal for him to be there. She had so many questions, but the shock of seeing him had jumbled them up in her head. Finally she settled for,

"Err, Is there any particular reason why you are sitting here in my country club... in England by the way?" she stressed.

He pretended to think about the question momentarily before he replied. "Yes, there is."

Was he trying to wind her up?

"And?" she questioned, her voice rising in pitch as she felt her stress levels increase.

He glanced down at his teacup and picked it up with his forefinger and thumb, raising it again, before looking from the cup to Harry.

"I'm having a cup of tea," he grinned, taking another sip to demonstrate.

A frown of rising annoyance wrinkled her brow. "Don't they have tea in New York, Dempsey?"

Ok, he needed her in a reasonable mood. He dropped the pretence.

"Can we go somewhere to talk?" he asked, lowering the tea cup down into the saucer with a clunk.

She folded her arms. "I'm a little busy at the moment, in case you hadn't noticed," she replied incredulously, gesturing behind her to Richie.

"Oh yes, such a touching scene," he commented sarcastically. "Can I take a look at the ring?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him and gritted her teeth with annoyance. He knew she hadn't accepted it. He must have seen.

"Why don't you just tell me what it is you want so we can get this over with?" she replied, avoiding his request.

"Now, that's no way to talk to your partner is it Harry? Don't I get a welcome back kiss or somethin'?" he said, his voice a little harder now too as he reacted to her tone.

"You might have done, yes... seven years ago... if you'd have told me you were going in the first place!"

Dempsey noted that she had kept count; she knew it had been seven years. So she wasn't as damn cold as she was acting. Although he was beginning to wonder.

"Excuse me if my brother had been kidnapped and murdered by Mafia and I didn't think to phone right away," he retorted, under his breath, aware that heads were turning towards them.

She paused for a moment and searched his face suspiciously. "You don't have any brothers."

Dempsey tutted. "He was as good as."

"Excuse me..."

Harry felt a hand on the small of her back and swung around a little guiltily. Had she been raising her voice a little too much? It was Richie.

"Sorry Harry, I'm gonna leave that extra glass of champagne; I said I'd help Eddie out after lunch. You stay here and catch up..." he glanced at Dempsey "... and I'll phone you later," he finished, passing her handbag to her.

Harry's guy was American. What the hell was she doing with an American?

She took hold of his arm however before he had a chance to leave. "No, really, I'll come too. Just give me two seconds..."

"Don't be silly; stay and enjoy yourself. We'll speak later, Yes?" he said, lifting a hand to place it in her hair whilst he leant forward to give her a soft kiss on the lips.

Dempsey wriggled in his chair and glanced away.

"Well, okay but..."

Richie was already heading towards the building. "I'll phone tonight," he said, turning briefly before striding away.

"Great. Thank you very much Dempsey!" she said, throwing her bag down onto the table and sinking into the chair. Well, she wasn't going to stay there arguing with him. Fumbling in her bag, she searched for her mobile phone. She was going to phone for a taxi.

"What've I done wrong now?" he snapped back.

"What have you done wrong? I was having a perfectly wonderful afternoon before you came and messed it all up. Why are you here Dempsey?" she asked again, exasperated.

"Now you come to mention it, I wanted an explanation. How come you never phoned? No goodbye, nothin'?" he accused. "We were partners. You owed me that at least!"

"I owed you!" her voice was bordering on a screech. She took a deep breath or else she wasn't going to be able to say what she wanted to without exploding. "First of all, what made you think you were so special that you could just leave for weeks...disappear without a word...flouting all the rules and ignoring your obligations here... and then come back and everything would be the same? What made you think that, hmmm? And secondly..."

"You're all about rules and regulations," he barked out, standing suddenly. "What about people who go by their gut instincts," he said, thumping his chest with one fist. "People who don't have time to sit down and write a damn list of the pros and cons before they do anthin'. People who know whether they wanna marry someone or not," he said, gesturing to the table that Harry and Richie had been sharing. "You wanna know somethin', you can't make no decisions in life 'cause you ain't got no heart lady!"

And with that, he turned and strode angrily away.

She stared after him in shock. How dare he! There was no way he was leaving her like that, not before she had finished having her say.

"Dempsey! Dempsey, I haven't finished with you yet!" she shouted, running across the lawn after him.

Rather than walking back through the building, Dempsey headed straight for the car park around the front of the club. Harry caught up with him just as he reached his car and she slipped between him and the door, preventing him from opening it. Her handbag fell from her shoulder to the floor with a thud. She stood with her back to his hand that was still on the handle of the car door. He could feel that the dress was backless as his hand was in contact with her bare skin.

"I haven't finished yet Dempsey!" she shouted somewhat breathlessly.

"Oh really. Do go on then Harry; I'm going to love to hear this," he replied, observing the effects of her exertions...the redness of her cheeks, the rise and fall of her chest as she fought to regain her breath, the fact that, rather disappointingly, the folds at the front of her dress had not moved at all and were teasing him with what was beneath them.

"What do you think I thought when you disappeared for two days?" she asked him.

He stood motionless for a few moments, his eyes moving over her face.

"Well?" she pushed.

More silence.

"That I'd gone somewhere," he finally replied. He was surprised to realize that he had actually struggled to answer that question. He hadn't thought of that before, only that she had been mad at him for not being there when he should have.

"No Dempsey," her eyes were burning into his. She tilted her head. "I thought you were dead."

Dempsey frowned.

"Someone works in that kind of job and then dissapears for days, what did you think I would think? We were partners," she stressed emotionally, "we'd faced death together time and time again. We relied on eachother to keep ourselves alive, and I could handle that...but you go off without telling anyone...I..."

She paused for a moment and dipped her head, taking a steadying breath.

Dempsey's frown deepened as he watched her and, without him being fully aware of it, his fingers on the hand that was pressed against her back uncurled and began to stroke the bare skin of her back.

"... I went out of my mind. Each hour that passed was like torture, not knowing... Thinking that you were dead." She sighed and glanced away.

."Harry," he said softly.

She turned her head to him again slowly, her eyes wary.

"I'm sorry." Pain flickered across his face. "It was a mistake. A damn stupid one. If I could change it all..." he faded out, as it suddenly hit him that if had he not made that mistake, he wouldn't have had to go through all the pain and misery of the last seven years.

He ran his left hand through his hair and glanced around, as if trying to find an answer. Harry watched him. He looked so lost.

"So, what are you doing here now then?" she asked.

"Remember I had heat on me in New York the first time?" he replied.

She nodded.

"Well, it's an inferno now."

"Are you back at SI10?" she asked, surprised.

He shook his head.

Confusion swept across her face. "So?"

"I just hadda get away from them, simple."

"I think you need a visa, or work permit or something Dempsey. You can't just move here like that," she pointed out.

"Yeah, I know, but I can't go back, that's for sure," he stressed.

She thought for a moment and then gave a half hearted laugh. "I had such a simple, uncomplicated life until you crashed back into it."

"You mean 'boring'," he summed up.

"No Dempsey, normal," she replied.

"That's what I said. Same thing." A half smile hovered around his mouth. His fingers resumed stroking small circles on her back.

She was more aware of them this time, and of the silence that was stretching, and his eyes that were searching hers. Her heart skittered and her skin warmed. His eyes were scrutinizing her face and the slow smile that developed across his aknowledged her rising colour.

She broke eye contact with him suddenly. What was she doing?

"Well, this has been scintillating, but I really should get back to Richie now," she said, turning and bending to retrieve her handbag from off the floor. As she crouched down, Dempsey had a very stimulating view down the curve of her back. She stood again, but instead of turning around, she remained facing the car for some reason. Dempsey didn't care, he was still mesmerized by the sight of her bare back and the curve of her body underneath. It wouldn't take much to slip that dress off. The thought snuck into his head.

"Dempsey?"

"Hmm," he responded, leaning closer to her, his face hovering by her hair, her perfume teasing his nostrils. If she didn't move soon, his libido would get the better of him. Fortunately, or possibly unfortunately, he couldn't decide which, her following question broke his spell.

"Why is there a dead body in the back of your car?"


	3. Chapter 3

"What?"

Dempsey stepped around Harry to peer into his car and she was right, there was indeed a dead body slumped in the back. Not just any dead body either, Dempsey was flabbergasted to see that the dead man was no other than Roberto Borelli! What the hell was going on?

"Oh this ain't good," Dempsey said, beginning to pace and run his hands through his hair as he wracked his brains, trying to figure out what to do.

"You don't say," Harry replied sarcastically.

"I know that man."

"You know him?"

"He's one of the Borelli brothers," Dempsey informed her, as if that explained everything.

"Dempsey, dare I ask, who are the Borelli brothers?"

He stopped pacing for a moment and stared at Roberto's body. "Mafia," he replied.

Harry threw her hands in the air. "Oh great! This day is just getting better and better. So you've brought Mafia back from New York with you," she stated.

"He's one of the guys I've been trying to bring down since I went back," he informed her, still staring at the body.

"Well, it looks like someone beat you to it," she replied.

Dempsey frowned. "But who, and why?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know." She opened her bag and pulled out her mobile phone. Dempsey turned suddenly.

"What you doin'?" he asked, looking suspiciously at the phone in her hand.

"I'm phoning the police," she told him, opening her phone.

"Are you kiddin' me? You can't do that; I'll be the number one suspect," he replied in a panic.

She looked down at her phone and then up at Dempsey. "What do you intend to do then?"

He moved around the car, as though searching for something. "I need time, time to figure out what's goin' on," he said, bending to take a look underneath the car.

She ducked to talk to him from the other side. "Right, and in the meantime, what on earth are you going to do about the body?" she asked.

He rose, as did she. "I'll have to hide it," he announced.

She laughed. "Are you mad?"

He swiftly walked around the car and over to her, grabbing her by the arms. "You don't realize Harry; he's American, I'm American, they will extradite me back to the USA."

"It can't be as bad as having to hide a dead body for goodness sake; how guilty will that make you look?" she pointed out.

"It can be as bad... when they put me on Death Row!" he exclaimed.

Her eyes widened. "Death Row?" She snapped her phone shut.

He sighed deeply, dropping his arms. "Yeah, they don't take so kindly to murder in the US."

"Well they dont exactly take kindly to it here," she commented, "Still, prison is better than... oh, never mind. Dempsey, I dont know what to say to you... other than that, nobody has a life this complicated. Most people who find a dead body phone the police." What was she saying? "Most people don't find dead bodies!" she amended.

"Yeah well, I have, and I've gotta get it outta here quick," he said, reaching around her to open the car door. She stepped aside and watched him slide into the seat. "Get in." he said.

She laughed. "Err no Dempsey, I'm not coming with you."

"Harry, you're implicated now too; you were at the crime scene," he pointed out. "Plus, if the Borelli's are here, you could be in big danger."

"Dempsey, there's no way I'm coming with you. I'm going back to find Richie," she replied adamantly.

"Look," he began in his most appealing voice, "can ya just get in so I can drive outta the way or somethin', cause if someone sees this," he made a thumb gesture to the back seat, "it ain't gonna look too good. I'll put the stiff in the trunk, think about what I'm gonna do and then you can go back to Richie boy if that's what you want."

"No Dempsey, this has nothing to do with me. You don't tell me what to do anymore. If I want to go back to find Richie, I'll go back now."

"Fine," he barked out, "Go back now then. I don't need you. I'll figure out what to do without you. I've been through worse. Have a nice life," he said, slamming the car into reverse ready to speed off.

The words 'Death Row' popped back into her head. Damn him! He wasn't capable of sorting this out himself, not without ending up worse off. How was she going to just go back to the club as if nothing had happened, knowing that Dempsey was harbouring a dead body? She had to at least find out what he planned to do next, if only for her own peace of mind.

"Dempsey!" she called after him.

He sped forward, and for a moment, she thought that he wasn't going to stop. At the end of the driveway however, he changed his mind and pulled to a halt. She ran over to the car, opened the door and slid into the seat.

"There's an area of woodland about a mile from here. It's quite remote. We will stop there, you will tell me what exactly you intend to do, and then I'm coming back here," she informed him.

"Okay, fine," he replied, trying not to look or sound relieved.

"Okay," she confirmed.

She must be out of her mind.

"Dempsey," she began.

"What?" he said, acellerating out of the driveway.

"If I end up in prison because of this, I will be extremely upset with you!" she said, pointing a finger at him.

"What, you don't like the black and white stripe look?" he grinned.

She tutted and he sped down the road.


	4. Chapter 4

"It's just down here on the right. If you follow the path to the end, you can continue into the woodland for a bit," Harry informed Dempsey, wondering why on earth she was being so matter of fact about giving directions when they had a dead body in the back of the car!

Sitting in that car next to Dempsey after seven years, Harry had mixed feelings. She had wanted to avoid seeing him again; it was just easier all round on her sanity. However, she'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit imagining him turning up one day. Although, after around the first year, she had begun to believe that he'd gone for good out of her life. And even if he did turn up, by then, too much would have changed in both of their lives to make seeing him matter.

She hadn't expected this though. Nothing had changed at all really, not in the way they fell into the same ridiculous banter, the same heated shouting matches, the same...grrrr... he was so annoying and conceited and... She'd had seven years free from all those sexist comments, and outrageous innuendos, and downright shameless looks, and it had been... much better. Yes, her life was now just as she liked it: calm and organized, not boring, what a cheek! And it was proper, as it should be...

"He had it comin' to him ya know," Dempsey broke her train of thought. She frowned. "The stiff in the back," he explained.

Hmm, she may have spoken too soon! She guessed that calm, organized and proper were on hold in her life for the time being.

The problem was that trouble just never failed to find him... or was it the other way around? Anyway, now he'd brought trouble into her life and she felt... strange, she didn't feel anxious about it, although she bloody well should! See what a bad influence he was already having on her? Well, she'd just have to keep him well and truly in check, help to sort out this mess, and then send him on his way again. Yes, that's what she was going to do.

He pulled the car to a halt with a jerk and they both felt a thud from the back seat, an unsettling reminder of what was there.

Harry put her hands to her face. Oh, God, what the hell was she doing?

"You aren't gonna go to bits on me now, are you?" Dempsey asked, watching her suspiciously.

She dropped her hands. "No Dempsey, don't worry about me. I'm used to this kind of thing. I become accessory to murder on a regular basis."

Oh hell, she was working herself up; he'd seen the signs before.

"Look," he said, getting out of the car and leaning on the open door to talk to her, "I didn't exactly plan this ya know."

He disappeared from sight and then reappeared a moment later. "You fancy givin' me a hand with the stiff?" he asked.

"Oooh yes Dempsey," she said, opening the door and sliding out, "such a treat. You really know how to show a girl a good time, don't you?"

Dempsey had opened the boot of the car and was already struggling to lift the body from under the arms by the time Harry joined him near the back seat. The man had been of medium height, dark gelled hair, in his thirties she would say, black bomber jacket and jeans, and he bore the lone, red hole to the head of the bullet that had killed him.

Harry grabbed hold of the man's legs and guided them out of the back seat, whilst Dempsey pulled him out. Finally, she had hold of his shins as they carried him to the boot of the car.

"Ya see Harry, with me you get excitement, intrigue, mystery..."

"And prison," she finished for him.

"See, there you go again Harry. With you it's all negative, negative, negative."

"Well... I'm positive that I don't ever want to do this again. Is that positive enough for you?" she said, finally positioning the legs into the boot.

They both stood, staring down at the body.

"So, now what?" she asked, gesturing to the corpse.

Dempsey took a deep breath, pondering the dilemma. Amusement bubbled up inside him then as he had a thought.

"Harry," he began, placing an arm around her shoulder.

"What?" she asked dubiously, glaring down at his hand with a frown.

Dempsey took the opportunity of their close quarters and her distraction to glance down at her dress. From that position, he could at least see more skin down the folds of material, and the slight suggestion of cleavage in their somewhere.

"I don't suppose you have a big chest..."

He paused and she swung her head to him, her eyes widening. His gaze swiftly rose to her face.

"...freezer," he finished with an innocent look.

She smiled sarcastically and calmly took hold of the hand on her shoulder, peeling it from her.

"Dempsey, if I did have a chest freezer, I wouldn't let you put your body into it," she smiled sweetly.

Dempsey lost his battle to stop a grin from developing across his face. That sounded so funny, especially coming from Harry.

His eyes, full of fun and amusement, moved over her face.

God, she liked his eyes.

No! No! No she didn't!

Harry abruptly moved to slam the boot shut. "So, you're on your own on this one I'm afraid. Now, I'm going back to find Richie," she announced.

The smile quickly slid from his face.

"Wait," he said, placing a hand on her arm as she turned to move away. "Listen Harry, seriously, it looks like the Borelli's are behind this. If that's the case, they must know I came to see you. It aint safe. These men are monsters."

She sighed. "Okay, well I'll be sure to sleep with a gun under my bed then," she replied, moving to turn from him again. Again, he halted her.

"With the Borelli's, a gun won't be enough," he insisted.

She growled. "Fine," she said, shrugging his hand off her arm. "What do you suggest then?"

He gave her a look as if she should know.

"You're going to be my body guard are you?" she laughed, leaning with one hand against the boot of the car and placing one hand on her hip. "Dempsey, I'm not putting _you_ under my bed!"

"I'd rather be on it." The words had come out before he could stop them. Makepeace didn't look amused, but Dempsey couldn't stop himself from continuing.

"Course, it'd be a bit of a squash ... what with the three of us in there," he said, feathering two fingers down her arm that was outstretched towards the car. "I take it Richie boy would be in there?"

He was unbelievable! He was trying to find out if her and Richie were sleeping together! Right, she'd had enough.

In one swift movement, she'd caught hold of the hand that was fondling her arm, twisted it behind his back, which forced him to turn with his back to the car, where she pinned him, his arm still bent in her grip.

"Wooaa!" he exclaimed in shocked surprise.

God, he'd forgotten about feisty Harry. Hmmm, but he could definitely get used to her!

"Listen to me Dempsey," she said, moving her face closer to his, "And listen very carefully."

He was listening! She had his attention alright! He wondered if it was wrong to be extremely aroused at that point.

"First of all, you respect my relationship with Richie." She stopped to look for some kind of confirmation. He glared back at her. What did that mean? Did he agree?

Dempsey was trying his hardest not to show in his expression how much he was being affected by the feel of her thigh between his legs, her torso pressed against his stomach and her chest inches from his.

"And secondly," she went on, "You let me know every, tiny, single solitary detail about this case. You go off on your own on the warpath with this and I swear, I'll go to the police with everything I know. Got it?"

"Got ya," he agreed.

"And lastly, I help you out with this and then we say goodbye and go our separate ways," she finished, finally releasing him and walking back to the front of the car.

He felt suddenly bereft from her withdrawal, not only her sudden physical absence, but the thought that she really wanted to say goodbye to him.

He watched the incredibly smooth skin of her back disappear as she slid into the car seat again.

There was not a chance in hell he was letting them say goodbye! He'd bring her round eventually, somehow.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Warning, this chapter ended up a little bit raunchy. Don't know how that happened? lol_**

"You know, I was thinking, the club has surveillance," Harry pointed out when Dempsey got back into the car.

Dempsey's face lit up with hope. "Well, let's go check out the tapes," he said, starting up the car and moving slowly back down the track.

Harry laughed. "They don't use tapes anymore Dempsey. It's discs now. I can see you're still useless with technology."

"Tapes, discs, same thing. You know where the equipment is?" he asked.

"Yes, it's in the director's office," she replied.

"You know where that is?" he questioned.

"Of course," she said, as if he should have known that.

By the time they returned to the club, the sky was beginning to darken and the reception area was practically deserted. The receptionist looked up when they entered, but Harry simply waved to her and led Dempsey past her desk and down a corridor, to the end where the lifts were located.

"Well, that wasn't too difficult," Harry said, as they entered the lift and she pushed the button for the top floor.

Emerging, she led Dempsey down another corridor towards the only door on the top floor, at the far end.

"It's just up here," she said, pointing ahead.

"This director guy, won't he be in there?" Dempsey asked.

"No, he's not here on Sundays," she informed him, reaching into her bag to pull out a set of keys as she walked.

Dempsey eyed the keys with surprise. "You have keys to his office?"

She turned briefly to glace at him. "Yes, we're friends."

"Friends?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes Dempsey friends, I'm with Richie, remember?" She tutted, turning her head back.

"Hey, I never said nothin'," he replied defensively.

"Hmm, but I can just imagine what was going through that overly active brain of yours Dempsey," she reprimanded.

"Oh, I have all sorts of thoughts you don't know about Harry," he came back, running his eyes up and down the sight of her in that backless dress right in front of him. Hell, that dress was going to be the death of him!

"I bet. Please keep them to yourself," he said, finally stopping at the door and slotting the key into the lock.

They entered a large room, which was dominated by a heavy wooden desk, leather sofas and all number of sporting motifs and photographs decorating the wall. Harry threw her bag down onto the desk but moved past it to open the door of an adjoining room. Dempsey followed.

"It's over there," she said, gesturing to another smaller desk with the surveillance equipment on it.

Harry hovered by the door, nervously eyeing the first door for evidence of anyone approaching.

Mindful of how important the surveillance evidence could be to him, Dempsey rushed to the desk. He quickly found the eject button on the equipment and pressed it, but turned his attention to an open folder of other discs while he waited for the equipment to respond. He flicked through the pages of the folder, slipping out the last few discs.

"Hurry up," she urged.

"Right, let's get outta here," he said, minutes later, but looking up in confusion to see Harry backing into the room.

"Harry?" he questioned.

She stopped, frozen to the spot in the middle of the room. Lifting a finger to her lips, she indicated for him to be silent.

"What?" he mouthed to her.

"I'm sure there's people out there?" she mouthed back.

From behind the desk, Dempsey pointed to the adjoining door, hoping that she would get there first. She began to move slowly towards it, with the aim of closing it without the people who were clearly heading down the corridor seeing. Pushing it, so as to leave just a crack to look through, Harry cautiously peered into the first office. It couldn't be the director; who on earth was it? She knew this would happen. It was just typical! The last thing she wanted was to get caught sneaking around the director's office. Eager to also see, Dempsey stood behind her. Placing one hand on the wall and the other on the door frame, he reached to look over her head.

There was a man and woman in the other room, speaking in hushed voices. Sounded like they were up to something. Maybe they had something to do with the murder? Probably not, but you never knew. Dempsey strained to hear what they were saying and quickly realized why they were there.

"What if we are caught?" the woman whispered.

"Makes it all the more exciting, don't you think?" the man replied, pulling the woman to him and kissing her passionately.

Harry abruptly leant away from the door and collided backwards into Dempsey. She turned her head, her face a picture of shock, and whispered to him,

"They're kissing each other."

He stifled a laugh. "We'll make a detective out of you yet Makepeace."

"But he's married," she whispered back.

"I assume not to her," he replied, leaning to peer through the door again. "Tut, tut, looks like he's a dirty boy then," he said, placing his hand over Harry's eyes suddenly. "Lady Makepeace... " he whispered into her ear, "you probably shouldn't look right now."

"Why, what's happening?" she asked.

"Looks like they are about to do more than just kissin', " he chuckled.

"What?" She swept his hand away and was shocked to see the man unzipping the woman's dress from behind. She stepped out of it, to reveal black lacy underwear, stockings and suspenders!

Harry swung her head around to see Dempsey grinning from ear to ear. "Hmm, not bad," he said, observing the semi naked woman. His eyes dropped to Harry, sparkling mischievously. "Dempsey!" She covered his eyes this time. He could smell some kind of perfume or hand lotion. "I think you've seen enough. All I need now is for you to get overly..." she faltered. He moved her hand away.

"Overly what?" he whispered, watching her with an amusement.

"You know what I mean," she replied, turning her head from his disturbing expression, but averting her eyes from whatever on earth was happening in the adjacent room. Things were definitely 'developing' if the noises she was hearing were anything to go by: soft female murmurs and the sounds of the man's rapidly developing arousal.

"Oh Lord," she muttered, placing a hand over her face.

Dempsey chuckled, and moved his mouth closer to her ear to whisper intimately... and so that the man and woman wouldn't hear of course. "It's only sex Harry. You should try it sometime; you might like it."

She turned her head slowly and glared at him. "Very funny Dempsey," she said, before turning back to face the door.

Dempsey watched the profile of Harry's face thoughtfully, a slight smile on his lips. She wasn't going to look he noticed, or would she?

Makepeace was always so secretive about her sex life; he assumed she had one, she had to, surely. Funny, as hot as she always appeared visually, Dempsey had a real annoying problem imagining Harry all worked up sexually, and the more he tried, the more he couldn't imagine it, making him want to make it happen all the more.

Still, it was going to be interesting to see how she would deal with this little dilemma.

Dempsey's attention turned to the adjoining room. "Hate to say it Harry, but I really do think they're gonna do it," he warned.

"Yes, I got that impression from the sounds Dempsey."

The slight movement of Harry's head in front of his nose made him look down to see, to his amusement, that she was taking a hesitant look.

Well, who would have thought it? Maybe she wasn't as reserved as he'd suspected.

Harry's eyes cautiously lifted to peer through the gap. She needed to know what was going on and when they'd be leaving so Dempsey and her could get out of there.

She could see that the man was still wearing his suit at least, but he was standing behind the woman, pressing her against the opposite wall and grinding his hips!

Oh Lord, they really were having sex! Makepeace took all the comfort she could out of the fact that at least they both hadn't stripped naked!

But the sounds were getting louder and bolder. She focused with determination on the door handle.

Dempsey, however, watched the action, and was unashamed to do so. The man was grabbing the woman's arm at that point and pulling her across to the desk chair, where he seated her on it. He positioned himself and renewed his onslaught. The woman appeared to be thrilled by the new position and shifted eagerly. Dempsey's eyes widened. He reached in front of Harry and covered her eyes again just in case, despite them being diverted. Laughing softly into her ear, he whispered, "Err, they're kinda showin' too much right now Harry. Trust me on this."

"I've no intention of looking," she replied, brushing his hand away. "Maybe you should do the same. Just a thought."

"I'm havin' a thought now too Harry," he whispered back.

"Not that again," she replied. He'd been bad enough that day without having further stimulation!

Hold on, what did he mean exactly?

She made the mistake of turning inquisitively. Why did she do that? Not a good move. His gaze dropped to hers the moment he sensed her head shifting towards him, and she was at the mercy of his full attention. Yes, he was definitely far too stimulated already! Those shameless eyes of his took their time assessing her. They were everywhere. God they were stripping her naked! She hated herself for the heat that crept into her face and seeped downwards, affecting every part of her as it went. He was insufferable! He should look away, be a gentleman, but this was Dempsey. There was no chance of that and she knew it. Her heart raced and her body began to tingle the more their eyes remained on each other. He really was enjoying himself. Well, she wasn't. No she was not! No! No! She didn't want this to be happening. It was scandalous. She _would_ look away, but she didn't want to see anything in the other room. It was justifiable.

Dempsey was surprised at Harry's boldness. He wanted to keep her eyes on him while the events happening in the room next door affected them both. His expression filled with some sort of triumph, daring her not to look away. He was enjoying this intensely and was going to take every advantage of knowing exactly how her mind worked. Her competitiveness would take over, leaving him free to revel in the arousal that she probably didn't know was written all over her face. It was something in the years he'd known her that he'd never seen before and it was probably the biggest aphrodisiac he'd ever experienced. No, correction, he could honestly say that he was actually more aroused then than he had ever been before in his life just by looking at her at that moment. Her flushed face just seemed to intensify the blue of her eyes and make her expression more explicit then ever.

Where was this going? He wasn't sure, but he wanted to know that very second! Okay, so he instinctively knew that he wasn't going to find out then, but whatever reason she still had her eyes on him, he didn't care too much because he was watching something in her that he'd been waiting, and hoping to see for years, something that may have been cut short by him having to leave for New York. He'd never known for sure, but he'd always wondered. Damn it, he was kidding himself, he did want to know now! She was the epitome of frustration!

The two people in the other room suddenly began to get louder and more explicit in their utterances, causing the atmosphere in both rooms to intensify.

Dempsey's smile grew in response as he continued to search Harry's eyes. She began to weaken under his scrutiny and his smile that spoke volumes.

Harry was forced to admit to herself that she was in trouble. It was an unfortunate situation to find herself in. What were the chances of that happening? With Dempsey turning up out of the blue and then this on top. But, like it or not, she was rapidly losing her cool. When were they going to bloody well finish?

She couldn't take it anymore and broke the tension with a small laugh.

"Dempsey?" she chastised.

Hearing his name from those lips of hers in that situation, however, only made that moment more arousing for him.

"What?" he feigned innocence but his smile gave him away.

"Stop it." She was now smiling too.

"Stop what?"

Oh good Lord, they were smiling at each other like flipping school children. She had to get a grip.

"You know exactly what," she came back.

"Hey, you're lookin' at me," he challenged.

"Where else am I supposed to look?" she asked, finally turning her head back to scrutinize the door handle again.

He chuckled from behind her. "Don't worry Harry, I'll let you know when it's safe to look out there," he assured her.

"I bet you will," she replied, not doubting that he was brazen enough to continue observing the scene unfolding in the next room.

"He's moved her onto the office chair," Dempsey whispered to her.

"Yes, thank you Dempsey, I don't need a running commentary."

Since he had last looked, the woman had become even bolder. She was certainly working herself up, and the man too. Their husky voices could clearly be heard, making the whole scene even more erotic, with the woman letting the man know exactly what she wanted him to do, and the man obviously becoming more aroused as he encouraged the woman further. What was also evidently heightening their excitement was their fascination with the thought of being discovered like that!

Dempsey's excitement was quickly approaching that of the man's in the other room. His eyes flicked to Harry, and back to the scene, and Harry again.

"Wooor... they're horny," Dempsey observed, his voice thick and gravelly in her ear.

Harry closed her eyes in torment. It was getting awfully hot in there. "State the extremely obvious Dempsey," she whispered, not daring to turn her head again. God he was so bloody oversexed all the time! It didn't exactly make working with him easy. Had the heating been turned on that afternoon or something?

Dempsey was actually beginning to hate that guy for all the action he was obviously getting. If Dempsey had been frustrated before, he was ten times worse now. It had been bad enough having to deal with Harry in that dress, and her telling off against that car had been downright torment, but having her there, in that situation, without being able to do anything was bordering on torture. With the low moans, panting and groaning from the other room floating into theirs, Dempsey simply gazed down at Harry helplessly, throbbing with unspent desire.

Harry groaned, which didn't help Dempsey's predicament at all, and rested her head against the doorframe. Her breathing was becoming more laboured the hotter she got.

"I wish they'd hurry up about it," she whispered, almost to herself.

She clung onto the doorframe for dear life and waited a painstakingly slow few more minutes until all the moaning and panting built to a crescendo and finally stopped.

Harry put her hands together, looked up and mouthed, "Thank you God."

Dempsey chucked to himself, despite the throbbing that he knew was going to last maybe for the rest of his frustrated life if Harry had anything to do with it.

He tapped her arm and she turned.

"Was that good for you?" he mouthed, grinning.

"Shut up," she whispered, her eyes suddenly widening in panic.

She grabbed his arm, pulling him away abruptly from the door as footsteps could be heard approaching.

The door creaked as it moved, and they both held their breath with anticipation.

Oh God, please don't let them be caught there like that by the club members. Harry frantically tried to come up with a reason for them being there.

The door closed however, and she let out a sigh of relief as the footsteps and muttering finally faded into the distance.

"Phew, I thought we were busted then," Dempsey commented.

Harry moved to the door, eager to leave.

"Dempsey," she said moments later. "I think we might have a slight problem."

"What?" he smiled. Maybe the problem was that she was so horny, she had to make him do to her what that man had done to that woman?

"They appear to have locked us in."

Okay, not exactly what he'd expected.


	6. Chapter 6

In the back of his mind, Dempsey was aware of the fact that being locked in there could be a huge problem for him, considering that there was a corpse outside in the trunk of his car! However, he was still struggling to recover from the after effects of extreme arousal, and his brain wasn't functioning on practical matters properly. See, that was why having women around in criminal cases was a real bad idea!

"You sure?" he asked her.

"Yes, of course I'm sure," she replied, running a frustrated hand through her hair.

He followed her movement with his eyes. She wore her hair tucked behind one ear, he'd noticed. Somehow, it never seemed to move from there. As her fingers ran through the perfectly sleek strands, however, her hair fell from her ear and tangled slightly. It left it more ruffled looking. It was more her, the her he used to know anyway. That was one thing he'd noticed about Harry since he'd returned: she seemed more… neat and perfect, too much so. He knew she was before, but not this much. Even this neat and tidy life of hers in the Country Club, organizing…whatever it was that she organized, and that guy she had hanging round her, Richie, he was conveniently there, even though she couldn't really want to stay with him ...it just didn't ring true to the Harry he knew before. Sure, she liked things by the book, but she got her kicks out of showing she was as good as any guy, and if that meant getting down and dirty, she never turned down the challenge. She had dealt with the lowest of scum on a daily basis, and pushed herself more than she probably should have. She thrived off that. How could her life now, without being a cop, satisfy her?

What was he doing? He had to focus.

Harry had moved to the desk and was searching through the drawers for something.

Dempsey strode to the window, peering out over the sheer drop of a flat brick wall.

"We'll never get out of there," Harry said, glancing in Dempsey's direction.

"Okay, you seem to know this place. How we gonna get out then?" he asked.

"We aren't," she replied, giving up on her search and throwing the paper she had found down on the desk with annoyance. "Well, not unless someone happens to check in on this office tonight."

"And how likely is that?"

"Not very likely on a Sunday."

"Hmm." Dempsey momentarily attempted to piece together ideas in his head. "So what's that?" he asked, pointing to the paper she had thrown down on the desk.

"Doug's schedule. He's away for the weekend. It has his contact number on it," she informed him.

"Doug?"

She nodded. "The director."

"So, phone him."

"Can't," she replied, sinking into the office chair. "My mobile is out there." She turned to stare at the wooden panelled door, biting her lip.

"Mobile?"

"Phone," she supplied for him, still staring at the door.

He groaned.

"Along with the keys," she added.

"Great, what'dya leave them out there for?"

She turned to him with a frown. "Don't start Dempsey. I didn't know that Sue and Dennis were going to sneak in here for outrageous fornication!"

A grin developed on Dempsey's face at the memory. "Yeah, it was kinda 'outrageous'," he quoted her.

She rolled her eyes. "So that's that then, we're stuck here now until the cleaners arrive tomorrow morning. Bloody brilliant!" She stood up abruptly and the chair skidded backwards on its wheels as the strode over to a mini fridge in a shelving unit that ran along one side of the room. She opened the door and took out a decanter of water, picking up a crystal whiskey glass from off the shelf, and placing it down with an angry thud before pouring herself a glass of water.

Dempsey watched her movements but his mind was elsewhere. "Harry, the car's out there. You think someone will impound it?" he asked, glancing out of the window anxiously.

She laughed. "We're not in America now Dempsey. This is rural Kent. The car won't be 'impounded'," she assured him, "Not…"

"…on a Sunday," he said in unison with her. "What is it with you people here on Sundays?" he asked.

She smiled, wouldn't he like to know. "Doug is always away on a Sunday," she informed him.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Ahh, and while the cat's away…"

"Precisely," she grinned.

"Hmm, and how those mice have been playin'," he grinned back, his eyes twinkling at her.

"Hmm." Her eyes remained on his for a few seconds, before they returned to the closed door, as she leant back against the shelving unit and sipped her water thoughtfully.

"Harry," Dempsey began moments later, "you don't suppose one of them 'country club mice' murdered Roberto, do you?" he asked, moving to the desk and beginning to flick through the surveillance discs.

She frowned. "I doubt it. What would they want to kill some random American for?"

He shrugged. "Who knows? I've said it before, these aristocratic types are nuts most of the time." He laid a set of discs out across the desk to better study them.

"Oh, and that would include me then, would it?" she replied with annoyance. "On second thoughts, I can quite understand someone wanting to kill a random American. I've had the same feeling many times before," she said sarcastically. He wasn't listening though. His face fell as his eyes frantically scanned the discs. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"They're gone," he said, hitting the desk top with the back of four fingers.

"What are gone?"

"The discs for today," he said, his voice rising. "All of them; they're gone."

"What?" she said, moving towards the desk. "They can't be."

"I'm tellin' you Harry, they aint here," he insisted, gesturing to a gap in the row of discs. "They're all labelled, times and dates, but there aint none from today. Somethin' aint right," he said, shaking his head and staring suspiciously at the discs on the desk. "Could the killer have got in here?" he asked.

"No," she frowned, "this door is always kept locked."

"So who has keys?"

"Only two other people, Doug and I…oh, and the cleaners," she added.

He thought for a moment, a finger on his lip. "Those two other people, they wouldn't be Sue and Denny, would they?"

"Dennis," she corrected. "No, at least I didn't think they had keys. Why would they?"

"I dunno, but they did, 'cause they locked us in here for starters. Ahh," his face lit up with realization, "Maybe Sue and Denny…"

"Dennis," she corrected again.

"Dennis, whoever, maybe they've not just been doin' it in here. Maybe they've been fornicatin' all over the club!"

Of course. She pointed at him. "And they took the discs to hide the fact."

He grinned. "Or maybe for further stimulation."

She looked taken aback at the thought of them taking the discs to watch themselves. Good grief, maybe they hadn't taken them for that reason and it was just Dempsey's dirty imagination. "Dempsey, you have a filthy mind," she concluded, turning to walk away.

"Me? Hey, I'm not the guy who's got some obsession with givin' women one in public places, then watchin' the footage," he laughed, "the randy little…"

"You're 'randy' enough too," she interrupted, turning back abruptly and glaring at him.

Amusement danced in his eyes. He leant back against the window sill, crossing his arms. "Yeah, howd_'you_ know?"

She held his challenging gaze and refused to let the smile that threatened develop. "We worked together for years; I know the signs."

Dempsey, on the other hand smiled openly, studying her with interest. "Well, Makepeace, you can't have been 'randy' for any of those years at all, 'cause I never saw no signs from you."

It took all the effort she had to stop that smile. "So, as soon as we get out of here, we go to see Dennis, get the discs, and you'll be exonerated," she said, purposely changing the subject.

She was such a tease.

"Yeah. And Denny boy is gonna hand those discs over if he wants to keep his little secret safe," Dempsey pointed out.

"Exactly." She sighed and walked to the office chair, taking a seat again. "We just have to get through a night locked in here first."

Then, to make matters worse, she slowly became aware of a ringing sound that could be heard coming from the office outside.

"Oh no," she put a hand to her head, "Richie."

"Ahh, shame," Dempsey commented.

She dropped her hand and turned to him with a frown. "What's wrong with you?"

He shrugged. "Nothin'."

Her expression softened slightly. "You two would probably get along you know."

"Why? Because he's American?"

"Well, yes," she answered a little uncertainly. "You could talk about…I don't know, New York or something."

He stared at her then for a few moments disconcertingly. She felt suddenly uneasy. "What?" she asked.

"How long you been seein' this guy Harry?"

"Almost a year, why?"

"Not even a year," his eyes widened. "Not even a year and the guy proposes?"

What was wrong with that? "It has been known before," she replied, "Anyway, he tends to do that a lot," she shrugged. "I don't take it too seriously. I'm not ready for marriage again… at the moment," she emphasised.

"Well, he must be quite serious if he carries a ring around with him," he pointed out.

"Hmm. Why are you asking anyway?"

He laughed. "Because he's a southerner. What would he know about New York? Thought you'd have known that about him," he challenged.

"Just because he was from the South, that doesn't mean he's never visited New York," she replied defensively.

She didn't understand, and she didn't know this guy that well either, he concluded.

"What's this guy do?" he asked.

"He's a philanthropist," she answered, knowing that he would have something to say about that too. Why was he being like this?

"A what?" he laughed.

"He works with charities, financing projects," she explained. "Helping people," she stressed.

"That ain't no job," he commented.

"Can we stop this interrogation now please Dempsey?" She stood again, and walked back to the shelving unit, her back turned to him. Being locked in there with him seemed suddenly stifling, with no way of putting space between them.

What kind of guy didn't work? And where did he get the money from anyway?

"Sorry," he said suddenly, watching her withdrawal. "It aint none of my business."

She swung back to him. "If we_ have_ to spend the night in here together, at least we can try to get along."

"Sure we can," he said, his face breaking into a reassuring smile.

She sighed before a sudden shudder overtook her. She was getting cold.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, moving towards a cupboard at the far end of the shelving unit. "I'm just a bit chilly, that's all. I think there is a blanket in here somewhere from the club picnic," she said, fumbling in the cupboard and eventually pulling out a bright blue blanket. "Thank goodness," she exclaimed, unfolding it, draping it around her shoulders and heading for the tea and coffee making facilities, which were on a tray on one of the shelves. "Do you want a cup of tea?" she asked.

"You got coffee?" he questioned.

She knew he was going to say that. "Yes," she smiled, preparing the drinks.

"So, the fact that this Roberto has been murdered over here," she began, voicing a concern that had been niggling at her, "won't that bring more trouble across The Pond for you?"

"Maybe," he replied, "but Roberto was one of the most powerful guys in that gang, along with his brother, Tony. Now he's dead, they're gonna have troubles of their own in the city. Rival gangs will try to take territory from them," he explained.

She abandoned the drink making for a second, and turned to him. "What on earth have you gone and got yourself tangled up in now? Gangsters? Mafia? And by the way, who's working with you on this?" she asked suspiciously, waving a teaspoon at him.

He fell silent, simply staring at her.

"Dempsey? Don't tell me that you've been doing this all on your own. Are you mad?" she said, shocked.

"I just started investigatin' stuff. Thought I could get enough evidence to put them away," he explained.

"And they found you out," she remarked.

He ran both hands through his hair. "Yeah," he replied, a little dejectedly.

Well, there was nothing she could do about it now. She returned to the mugs and poured the boiling water from a kettle into them.

"Who was the man you returned to New York for, the person you regarded as your brother?" she asked, finishing the drink making and approaching the desk. She placed his mug on the desk top for him and turned to take a seat on the maroon coloured sofa, which was against the opposite wall to the shelving units. She sunk into the soft cushions gratefully, cupping her hands around her mug and taking a warming sip of tea. "And how come you haven't mentioned him before?" she added.

He shrugged, and reached out for the mug, leaning back against the window sill to drink it. "Never came up in conversation. Besides, he moved out of New York for a few years so we kinda lost touch for a while. Then I came here," he replied.

"So, how do you know him? Who is he?" she pushed.

His face fell deathly serious and he glanced out of the window for a moment before he began to explain.

"His name was Danny. He was a half-brother to Tony and Roberto, only they didn't get on too well with him…"

So Danny's family were mafia.

"…Don't think they considered him a true Borelli. When they was kids, Tony and Roberto got mixed up in one of the Lower East Side gangs, real heavy handed guys. They started off running errands for them, bein' look out, you know, small stuff, but before they knew it, they were in over their heads. Well, the top guy, he wanted Danny too. Told them to persuade Danny to work for them. Danny wasn't interested, but the top guy thought Danny knew too much so, to prove their loyalty, he ordered Tony and Roberto to murder their brother."

He glanced sadly out of the window again, sipping his coffee.

She watched, transfixed, processing the information and waiting for him to continue in his own time.

"They was only kids really. They must have been nervous see because they shot him but never checked that he was dead. Some cop found him, left to die, bleedin' out in a backstreet, but he was still alive, only just, but he was alive. It took him years to recover fully, but the cop who found him, he helped him out, gave him a new identity, you know, made sure the brothers never found out he was still alive, and helped him look after himself."

Her eyes flickered around the profile of his averted face and a soft smile touched her lips. "Dempsey, the cop, the one who found Danny, it was you, wasn't it?"

He stilled for a second, but then nodded.

Now she had a greater appreciation for both why he cared so much about Danny and why he wanted to bring the brothers to justice so badly.

"He lived with us for a while, when he was recoverin'," he went on, "but then we decided he should move outta state, for his own safety. I didn't see him for some time, and then I moved out here. Only somehow, the brothers did find out about him…seven years ago. That was when I got the phone call and flew back. You know the rest," he finished.

He was gazing out of the window again. "Dempsey," she said softly. He didn't seem to hear. Placing her mug on the coffee table, she rose off the sofa and moved to stand in front of him, leaning back on the desk. He finished his coffee, and placed the mug down, glancing across at her with questioning eyes.

"I appreciate how much you cared for Danny, but facing the Borellis alone was simply suicidal. Whatever made you do it?" she asked as gently as possible.

Why had he? He had to admit that his actions had been impetuous even for him. Well, his partner hadn't been there. Who else did he have that he could trust as much? He'd not only lost his partner, but his friend, and probably the one person who had it in them to prevent him from going off the rails. But she was thousands of miles away, and even if he could have found her again, he'd been cut off from his life in the UK, so what good was it? She was hardly going to move to the USA to help him bring down the Borellis. So, he'd lost his partner, he'd lost his job, he'd lost Danny, and the following year, he lost his mother; he had no one. Okay, well there was the odd woman here and there; he wasn't a saint. But he hadn't encouraged any of them to stick around. It was a risky business he'd chosen to get mixed up in, risky and lonely, but worst of all was the danger he was to himself because, after all, he'd had nothing whatsoever to lose.

"Dempsey?" she questioned.

He struggled to answer her and finally blurted out, with frustration, the only thing he could think of. "I dunno, I just had to do it."

She searched his face, looking for answers. Then she did something which she probably wouldn't have done before. Maybe the seven years had changed her, made her more forthright. Reaching out towards him, she placed her hands gently over his.

"Dempsey, you have to stop this…this vendetta. You'll never win it because," she titled her head slightly, willing him to take note of what she was saying, "even if you go after the other brother and succeed, there will be more and more people coming out of the woodwork after you. It will never end," she stressed. "You can't live like that. I'm sure Danny wouldn't want you to; anyone who cares about you wouldn't want that."

Do you care?

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask it, but nah, that would sound stupid.

He glanced down at her hands on his. They seemed so much smaller. He could feel the smoothness of her skin.

When he lifted his eyes, she was gazing at him, a slight frown wrinkling her brow, her eyes soft with concern.

"You deserve to find happiness," she went on, unable to stop herself, "everyone does," she said, finally withdrawing her hands when she felt her emotions threatening to take over. She'd said enough. She just hoped he had listened. But now he was staring at her with a strange expression that she couldn't read. It unnerved her. Maybe she'd said too much?

"And what about you, Harry?" he finally said, reaching out with one hand towards her face. Her heart rate accelerated suddenly. What was he going to do? Sliding his fingers gently into her hair that was neatly tucked behind one ear again, he freed it, letting it fall around her face. "Are you happy?" he asked. She felt her cheeks warm at his nearness. Smiling, he brushed her flushed cheek with his thumb before he dropped his hand.

She hesitated as if to think, and then nodded.

He wasn't convinced. Okay, so she wasn't unhappy, but she wasn't satisfied either. He knew it, even if she didn't. And there lay the problem. Harry could be incredibly stubborn when she wanted to be. If she thought that everything in her life was neatly arranged, trying to talk her into ruffling things up a bit was going to be difficult. He wondered how she would react to the thought of police work again. He wasn't going to broach that subject with her though, not then anyway.

"Has he got anythin' stronger over there?" he asked suddenly, moving towards the drinks cabinet. She followed his path with a wary expression. He could see that there was alcohol there. "What?" he questioned, after glancing back at her, "If we're gonna be here for the night, we may as well make ourselves at home, right?"


	7. Chapter 7

While Dempsey was invading the drinks cabinet, Harry moved back to the desk, and studied the surveillance discs with interest.

Dempsey's eyes flicked to her, in between assessing the contents of the fridge. There was a lot of alcohol there on the shelves, from whiskeys to wine, but there wasn't that much in the form of food. He hadn't eaten since he'd been on the plane, and that food had been so bad, he hadn't eaten all of that either.

"You see anything of interest there?" he enquired, moving wine glasses, a bottle of wine he had opened and a selection of snacks he had found in the fridge onto the coffee table. "Any discs there that _you_ wanna hide Harry?" he grinned.

Her eyes widened and she turned slowly to him, not even humouring him with an answer to that question. He didn't expect one. "Guess not, eh."

Dempsey was far too excitable that evening for her liking, especially considering that she was stuck there in that room with him. How on earth was she going to calm him down? She felt a nervous anticipation of comments like that one. Not that she wasn't more than capable of coming up with some kind of appropriately witty reply, but it was the way he watched and waited for a reaction, as if trying to read something into her response. Sometimes he seemed to know too much…or at least he thought he did. And worst of all, sometimes she gave into laughter, which only encouraged him more. Well, he was so outrageous, she just couldn't help it.

"I really think you ought not empty Doug's fridge Dempsey," she said, heading back to the sofa, seating herself in front of the 'picnic' he'd arranged on the coffee table and eyeing it with uncertainty.

"What, are you kiddin' me? Old Douggie boy aint gonna miss this. He's probably havin' his own dirty little weekend," he laughed.

"No actually," she replied primly, "He's away on business."

"Ahh, poor old Douggie," he answered. "So," he said, clapping his hands and gesturing to the table, "We have a total of, some kindda weird lookin' nuts…"

"They are sunflower seeds," she informed him, "Doug is trying to lose weight."

He grinned. "Ahh, Douggie boy's gotta cut down on the old spare tire if he's gonna get the ladies in bed."

She laughed. He was incorrigible.

"Yeah well, you can keep them," he said, passing her the saucer of seeds. "Bird seed ain't my thing. But we do have some kinda cheeses here, some bread, some ham and some of the smallest sausages I ever saw," he finished, assessing the food wryly.

"Cocktail sausages," she informed him. "It's the remains of the Club picnic."

He pulled a face. "Who had sausages in cocktails? Aint it supposed to be olives?"

She chuckled. "Yes Dempsey."

"And," he went on, performing a fake drum roll, "the crème de la crème, a bottle of most excellent Cotes de Beaune wine," he said in a ridiculous French accent.

She laughed. "Very nice Dempsey, but I have had enough to drink today."

He face fell. "Ah, c'mon Harry, we gotta get through a whole night in here. What else we got to do? There aint no TV, not much food, we can sit here twiddlin' our thumbs if you like, or…" He smiled as a thought hit him. "…Or, we could have…"

"What?" she asked.

"Sex," he grinned, "Whatd'ya say Harry?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

She paused for a second. "Pass me that wine," she said suddenly.

He laughed, pouring her a glass and passing her it.

She laughed also, taking a sip.

He poured a glass for himself too, but before he sat down to enjoy it, along with the nibbles he had found, he headed for the CD player he had spotted on a shelf to the side of the desk.

Harry began to pick at the cheese and bread while Dempsey spent some time searching for music to put on. He chose an easy listening CD and turned the music down to a soft background noise. The gentle tunes seemed to warm the room with their dreamy notes. If she didn't know better, she would think that Dempsey was trying to romance her.

They enjoyed the snacks more than either of them had thought they would. Harry hadn't realized that she was peckish, and Dempsey hadn't realized what good quality the cheeses and hams were. The conversation remained light, with Dempsey entertaining her with ridiculous jokes and innuendos. At some point during the conversation, they both became aware of rain falling outside, and they commented on how strange it was, considering the sunshine earlier that day.

Finally, somehow, the bottle of red wine had disappeared, but Dempsey wasted no time rising off the sofa to go search for another one. She watched him with some reservations. She really shouldn't drink much more.

Whilst hunting down another bottle, something on one of the shelves caught Dempsey's eye and he smiled with pleasure, placing the bottle on the desk while he bent to take a closer look. He turned to Harry. She was watching him.

"Do you play?" he asked hopefully, gesturing to the board on the shelf.

"Chess?" she said with surprise. "Of course. Do you?"

"You bet I do," he replied, taking hold of the edges of the board and pulling it out. "You wanna play?" he asked. "Could be an interestin' game."

"Okay, why not," she smiled, taking up his challenge and standing to move a small table under the board that he was carrying.

"Alright!" he responded with excitement, arranging two chairs for them and pouring two more glasses of wine, which he transferred next to the board. "I warn you though Harry, I always win," he grinned, taking his seat.

"We'll see," she smiled back.

As she took her eat opposite him, it occurred to her then how important it was that she beat him. They had been competitive before, but they had always basically been on the same side. In a game of chess, it was each for their own. She was facing a huge competition, but she couldn't lose to him; he would be unbearable. The thought of the game was unnerving, but it was challenging too, and when was the last time shed been challenged like this? Shed forgotten. What was she feeling right now? Anxiety yes, but something much more interesting than that, something that went hand in hand with that type of anxiety: excitement.

"Let the battle commence," Dempsey announced, rubbing his hands together smugly.

Glancing down at the board, he paused for a moment, and then looked up at her. "Hey, you wanna go first?" he asked, gesturing to the board.

What made him think she needed an advantage? "No, no, you go ahead," she insisted.

He smiled but shook his head, swivelling the board around so that the white pieces were on her side. "Ladies first," he grinned. "Ladies _always_ first," he stressed suggestively.

She smiled and gave a small nod of acknowledgement, her eyes falling to the pieces. Reaching out, her hand hovered above the middle pawns for a moment while she summed up her options. Then she swiftly seized one and moved it forward decisively. The game had begun.

Dempsey's first move was instant. She knew that he would move quickly; it befitted his arrogance. She played chess more cautiously however, assessing every option. His over arrogance could quite easily trip him up, but she wasn't foolish enough to underestimate him either.

It was an odd counter move; he had advanced his King's pawn, leaving it open to be taken by the Queen's pawn she had just moved. What was his thinking behind that? It was too early to tell, but now she had to make the decision of whether to take his pawn, or not to waste valuable moves, and free her more powerful pieces as soon as she could. If she didn't take it though, would he take her pawn afterwards? Tradition told her not to waste time on pawns this early in the game, however, it went against the grain to leave the two pawns there, challenging each other.

He watched her with amusement as her eyes lingered on the two pawns. There wasn't that much he could do with the move; he'd just done it more to throw her off, knowing that it would niggle at her sense of neatness. He wondered how she would finally react.

She had to make a decision. This was ridiculous, it was only the third move of the game! She took a hesitant glance at Dempsey. His eyes moved from the board to her, sensing that her attention had shifted. He smiled. She smiled back and returned her eyes to the board. Damn it, she couldn't resist. Having made a decision, she quickly grasped her pawn with one hand, and took his with the other. There, she'd done it.

"Hmm, interesting," he commented, with a knowing grin. "Different," he added.

She narrowed her eyes at him. She knew full well what he was trying to do. Smiling sweetly, she picked up her wine glass and took a slow sip, holding his gaze, until he was forced to refocus on the board to continue play.

She predicted that he would rely heavily on his knights and would want to free them quickly. The knights were powerful pieces when played well, being unpredictable in the way they could move in multiple directions and the fact that they could jump other pieces, which might otherwise act as barriers. She could also use knights effectively, but more often used the power of bishops, aligning them with each other, and then strengthening their potential with the use of the Queen.

He moved, and she'd been right. He jumped his knight into the board.

She smiled in response; her prediction had been spot on. He also smiled smugly, raising his glass to her.

She felt confidence flooding into her at that point however, and it lifted her spirits considerably. At that moment, she was certain that she could use the fact that she knew him so well to her advantage. Holding her glass up, about to drink, she considered her next move.

The moments ticked by as Harry examined the board. Dempsey wasn't the most patient of people, but he wasn't going to let the fact that she was stalling put him off. In the absence of anything else to do, he found himself transfixed on the glass at Harry's lips. She sipped, once, twice, three times, her lips slightly reddened by the time she had finished. Was it the colour of the wine that shimmered there still, or something else that had reddened them?

Her next instinct was to get one of her bishops out fast. She'd keep an eye on his knight however, knowing how quickly it could cause her trouble, but this time her move was swift: bishop into the middle of the board, to rest behind the first pawn she'd moved. At least the bishop was now protecting her pawn. Okay, so she was now limited in what she could do with the bishop, since it was being blocked by her own piece, but there were ways around that dilemma, and she had her bishop in quite a powerful position now.

Her eyes rose to his confidently. He dipped his gaze momentarily, before raising it again and lifting a questioning eyebrow.

"Are you sure about that Harry?" he asked.

She smiled sweetly. "Yes, perfectly sure."

His next move was bold, and she could see from the satisfaction on his face after he'd moved it that he thought she'd overlooked that possibility.

Like hell she had! She never overlooked anything in chess, least of all this early in the game, and even less so when it involved her King. She had just dismissed the idea of him making that move for how simply she could use it to her advantage.

His bishop into the board, putting her into check.

She already knew what she would do, move her pawn forward to block the check and threaten his bishop at the same time. Reaching out, she took hold of the head of the pawn but clung onto it for a few seconds while she did a final check of the board to see that she hadn't missed anything. Still holding onto the pawn, her gaze flicked upwards to him. His eyes moved from her face to her hand and back to her face again. She studied the pawn one last time before finally moving it forward, leaning her chin on her hands and smiling with satisfaction at him.

His eyes darted downwards and then moved with lightning speed all over the board. He reached out blindly, picking up his wine glass and taking a sip, while still considering the pieces. Then, putting down his glass decisively, he moved his bishop back one square in defence.

With Dempsey though, no move was purely defensive; she knew it instinctively. There was an attack in there somewhere at the same time. She scrutinised the board for it. Okay, so he had the potential to threaten her king now from another angle, if he managed to back up the bishop with a knight, to prevent her king from taking it. But she really didn't like relying on her king to take pieces, it made her nervous. So, she needed to get more pieces out to pose more of a threat. She'd move her knight out to the edge of the board, not only freeing one of her pieces, but defending the square that his bishop would have to next move to if it were to threaten her King. Perfect. She was still anxious about that bishop of his though.

His next move puzzled her yet again. Damn Americans! She had to admit that she was nervous of him playing by different rules that she wasn't aware of. No, but she knew her game. She spent the next few minutes scrutinizing his move, going through every possible reason for it, but still not coming up with a motive. Well, it can't prove any great threat to her, not yet. She focused on her game plan. She would now move her second knight into the middle of the board; that would trouble him as he valued knights, but best of all, there was another motive behind her move.

Then something occurred to her. Would he sacrifice pieces? If he knew that he could take her knight, would he sacrifice his bishop? In a way, she hoped so; she didn't like his bishop where it was. She could stand to lose a knight that hadn't gone anywhere far yet. Now, if it was her, she'd never sacrifice a piece if she could help it, but this was Dempsey we were talking about. She was quite happy to keep her knight too though, and carry on attacking. But this wasn't the average game that she had played.

He stared long and hard at the board after her move. Then his eyes were on her again, wondering, searching, smiling knowingly…at what, she wasn't sure. Hell, she actually didn't care if he took her or not at that point. If he did, she would use that advantage, if he didn't , she would have moved a piece further into the board.

Then he seemed to mirror her earlier action, taking hold of his bishop but not letting it go. He hadn't even moved it out of its square though. Would he take her knight with it or not? It hovered ominously there. She began to feel her heart rate accelerating. Why, she didn't know. It made no difference to her, but she'd just like him to make a decision. He'd always moved his pieces quickly before.

At last the piece moved past its square, in the direction of her knight, but to her annoyance, it stopped again, half way between her knight and its original square. She glanced up at him. He was watching her, smiling, obviously playing games with her. Okay, but he couldn't do this forever; he'd have to move eventually. Then, to her consternation, he moved the piece back to its original square and let it go! What on earth was he doing? She sighed and looked up at him. He was still staring at the board, however, she was sure that he knew she was watching him. Again he reached out and took hold of the bishop, but this time he lifted it completely off the board and held it on the table in front of him. She'd lost her patience.

"Oh, for goodness sake Dempsey, just take me if you want to!"

His eyes widened; an amused smile quickly developed. "Oooh, an interestin' proposition. Can we wait till after the game though? 'Cause I'm winnin' at the moment," he replied.

She gave a small laugh. The cheek of him! "Really? I don't think so, but nobody is going to win if you don't move one piece or another soon," she pointed out, exasperated.

He smiled, apparently pleased with himself about something, and picked up his bishop again, finally making his move.

Once again, she'd predicted him right: he took her knight with his bishop.

She wasted no time, taking his bishop in return.

There followed a frenzy of taking pieces. She tried to slow it down, alarmed at how quickly the board was clearing and aware that, although she was keeping up with him, she was also getting carried away at a pace he was more at home with.

Now they were both at the stage when they were each desperate to claim an advantage by taking a piece of the other's that wasn't involved in a trade. Only that would determine who was going to dominate the board.

Dempsey was considering a complicated plan, but it meant that in five moves ahead, he could get her into checkmate. He became excited at the prospect. But the way she was playing, she would probably predict his moves. He had to resort to more unconventional means. He grasped his Queen, the piece that he knew she valued to the hilt, and moved it into harms way. He watched the slight widening of her eyes as she looked down at the board. Placing it onto the square that would result in its demise, he lifted his fingers slightly, seeming to release the Queen.

Her eyes flicked to his. "You seem to have let go of that piece," she observed.

"No," he challenged, lifting his hand enough for her to see his little finger still touching it. "I never stop touchin' until I'm through," he said mischievously.

She sighed. "Do you really feel the need to resort to all these childish games?" she asked him.

He returned his Queen then and moved his knight, putting his plan into action.

"Games?" he responded innocently.

She frowned though after assessing his move. How could she have missed that? He was playing with her, trying his hardest to put her off. Well, two could play that game; if he could distract her like that, then she could do the same, threefold.

She took her time over her next move, making him wait as only the beginning of her counter strategy. Firstly, she toyed with her wine glass, running her fingers slowly up the stem. She drew his attention to it by moving hers away from the board. She sighed, seeming to be contemplating her next move, whilst her fingers slid up and down the stem of that glass, teasing it, teasing him. Then, when she had his full attention, she lifted it, excruciatingly slowly to her lips. She held it there before she took a sip, so that her lips were clinging to the edge of the glass, her eyes apparently contemplating the board.

He was losing control again; those lips of hers were driving him to distraction! They touched the glass softly, while the red liquid seeped past them and disappeared. She swallowed and lowered the glass, her eyes closing slightly, seeming to enjoy the warming taste. The fingertips of her other hand, however, toyed with her mouth, one finger slipping in, her teeth biting down indecisively as she scanned the board with suspicion. Dempsey had problems moving his eyes off those glossy lips of hers. He was throbbing again… badly…in a daze of her fingers and lips, shiny and wet. God he could plunder those lips right now!

As his eyes lingered on her mouth, he was vaguely aware of her moving a piece.

It seemed irrelevant though. Suddenly disbelief hit him, seeing her like that. Disbelief that he was sitting there in front of Harry after all those years and there was something...something between them, something really damn hot! Things had happened so fast that day; he could hardly get it through his head. And now, damn it, he was at her mercy yet again because his libido was most definitely taking over rapidly. He was aware that it was jeopardising his game, but part of him was starting to not care. She was playing with him, he knew it, but what the hell, let her keep on playing!

She sighed as if too hot. His attention flicked from the board to her once again. She ran the fingers of one hand down the folds at the front of her dress, grasping them and wafting them lightly as if to generate some air. The board was calling him but there was no way he was missing a moment of that wafting! She leant forward slightly, resting her chin on one hand. His gaze avoided her face and snuck a look down the front of her dress. Her fingers were still there, edging into the place that his burned to be. He shifted uncomfortably on his chair and lowered his eyes to the board. He was going to move his bishop…no, knight, then his bishop…or was it the other way round?

He tried to fix his eyes on the board; he willed them to stay there, but then she was moving again, ducking down for some reason. Curiosity tore his attention away.

She had swivelled to one side of her seat and bent, leaning forward over one knee to loosen the strap on her shoe. Appreciating her ankles and calves was one thing, but the view of her dress, or lack of it, down her back was something else at that angle. He could barely see the edge of the back of her dress, and if he focused just on that area, he could almost imagine her not wearing that dress at all! His mouth was suddenly dry. He licked his lips. Then she was taking her shoe off. His mind began wandering. After she had taken both shoes off, she would be naked… apart from that dress. Well, she definitely had no bra on anyway, he could tell. Okay, so she probably had panties on… grrr, he had to stop thinking of her panties!

Right, that was it, he had to move now. If he remembered the plan correctly, he needed to move his knight…yes, then on the next move, she would be in check. And after that it was just a matter of bringing his remaining bishop into play.

He made his move.

Having dispensed of her shoes, she rose again to glance at the board. She assessed the effect that his knight would have on her game, noting that she would be in check on the following move. But then something odd happened. She suspected what he'd inadvertently done, but had to check and recheck to see if she was in fact right. A smile grew the more she checked their pieces, until she broke out into laughter.

"What?" he frowned.

She glanced up at him, but burst out laughing again.

"C'mon Harry, what's up?" he said impatiently.

She took in a deep breath to calm herself in order to answer. "Take a look at the board Dempsey."

His eyes shot down to it, but he saw nothing unusual; he wasn't in check, but in one more move, she would be. He was winning, so why was she so amused about that?

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"No," she insisted, "_really_ take a look at it."

He_ had_ really taken a look at it!

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong or not?"

She leant back in her chair, as if she had finished, draping her arm casually over the back.

"Stalemate," she said slowly but clearly, her eyes glittering with amusement. The word echoed around the room.

"What?" he asked, searching the board for answers.

"It's stalemate. Nobody wins; it's a draw," she emphasised.

"Ahh no, no, no, no, no," he responded, shaking his head, "I don't play stalemate; someone's gotta win, and one more move, and you're in check…soon to be checkmate," he informed her.

She chuckled. "You have no choice but to accept stalemate Dempsey; look, I can't move any of my pieces at all. And if I can't move any of my pieces, then you won't get your turn, hence, stalemate."

He stared at the board in dismay, as what she had said sunk in.

"That aint how we play it in the States!" he finally responded dismissively. "Stalemate, that just aint right!"

She smiled, rose off her chair and moved to the half bottle of wine that had been left on the desk, refilling her glass.

"Face it Dempsey, you can't beat me because I am your equal. I'm equal to you, and you're equal to me. And don't think for one minute that I didn't see your five move plan," she laughed. "That attempt to put me off with the Queen," she shook her head, "pitiful!"

"What about you?" he pointed to her accusingly. "What was all that sighin' and touchin'? And that thing with the lips, eh? What was all that about? And the shoes," he added.

"Shoes?" she laughed, "I took my shoes off Dempsey; my feet were hurting."

Hmm, well, his body was still buzzing from the memory of it. She'd been playing him; that was for sure.

He stared at her, leaning nonchalantly back against that desk, smiling triumphantly at him. Silence fell upon the room, apart from the sound of raindrops on the window panes and the soft sound of background music. He stood slowly and she watched with growing curiosity the closer he got to her. What was he going to do? He only hesitated a second when he reached her however, and stepped to her right. She turned with surprise to see him flicking through the songs on the CD. He had found one that he apparently liked, nodding his approval. Then his head turned to her. His eyes began to mould to hers in the silence that had fallen between them, and she wondered what on earth was going through his head.

Then, without warning, his hand shot out, grasping her by the wrist, and before she knew what was happening, he'd pulled her with a sharp tug, into the hard wall of his chest. She gasped and looked up at him in shock.

"I like this song; let's dance," he smiled challengingly.

It looked like she hadn't got much choice; he clearly wasn't taking no for an answer.

His hand moved from her wrist then to clasp hers, whilst his other hand slid onto her bare back. That touch felt so intimate; she found herself struggling to catch her breath at the feel of it. The only thing she could do to distract herself from the sensations she was feeling was to talk.

"Rainy Night In Georgia," she nodded, "fitting choice." Her voice didn't sound as steady as she would have liked, but that was the least of her worries at that moment. She had the distinct feeling that this dance was going to be her punishment for putting him off his game. He wasn't going to win though. There was no way she was going to give him the satisfaction.

"I thought so," he answered.

As they began to sway to the music, Dempsey took full advantage of having access to her bare skin. He'd been fascinated by it all day, and now he had an excuse to feel the long expanse of soft, silkiness against the palm of his hand.

When Dempsey's hand began to wander, trailing his fingers up and down her spine, up and down, up and down… Harry's head became slightly fuzzy. She had a vague thought: she might now have some understanding of why Dempsey hadn't been able to concentrate on his game.

"You been to Georgia Harry?" he whispered into her ear, his warm breath caressing her senses.

It was an odd question, but she answered automatically, her head stuck in a drowsy haze. "No." Then, forcing the word out, she asked, "You?"

"No," he replied, his breath leaving a tingling trail from her earlobe upwards to her temple, where his lips then hovered. "Wanna go some day?" he sighed, his lips brushing her temple with the slightest of touches. It was a crazy conversation, but there they were, having it.

"Why not?" she laughed.

She could feel his smile from the movement of his lips at the side of her face.

Slowly then, she began to register that his hand on her back had lowered, tracing circular paths, over a wider area than just her spine. He was exploring, but how far would he go? His fingers had reached the material of one side at the back of her dress now, they hesitated there. She seemed to have stopped breathing. Then his fingers crept past the material to the even softer skin beneath it, skin that he had never even seen before, let alone touched. It felt thrilling and dangerous to him, and for a few seconds, both daring and exhilarating to her. His palm was now on her naked hip, and it ran boldly, and so very sensually, upwards over her waist, up, up… He was now also holding his breath, on tender hooks, wondering if she would let him move his hand to where it had burned to be.

He spoke to her then, praying that his comment would distract her for long enough.

"I miss the SI10 days, don't you?" he asked softly.

He'd made a fatal mistake. The mention of SI10 was like a bucket of cold water over her as realisation of what she was doing suddenly hit her. She had been letting him seduce her for God sake, what was she thinking?

Abruptly stepping back away from him, she left his arms outstretched, empty and confused.

"Don't think you can just come back after all these years and everything will be the same Dempsey, because it isn't," she said, turning and striding to the other side of the room.


	8. Chapter 8

What the hell had she been thinking? To dance with him like that, let him touch her…when she was with Richie…when she hadn't seen him for seven years… and he turns up out of the blue… and on the first evening, only hours after she'd seen him again, she behaves like that! Was she out of her mind? He'd swan off back to New York again and she'd be left there with her relationship with Richie in tatters. Okay, so she wasn't ready to marry Richie yet but there was something there between them. He made her feel good. She hadn't really been looking for a relationship at the time either, but he'd made her feel so good and they had laughed and talked…that night at the Montgomery charity function… there had been some kind of spark between them. Hadn't there?

What had happened? One minute everything was just…just…so damn good! They were melting together. Him and Harry. They were even going to Georgia together…and then, bam! What did she mean, is wasn't the same? Well, okay, it wasn't exactly the same, cause they weren't working for SI 10, but in a way, it was just the same… no correction, it was even better! Or so he'd thought.

"What's wrong?" he asked, holding his hands out to her, his face filled with uncertainty and confusion.

Seeing him like that, looking so at a loss, just made her more anxious. She couldn't handle it when he made her feel like that. She had moved her life on from all this…or so she had thought.

"It's been seven years Dempsey, but you're acting as if nothing is different!" she exclaimed, in a panic, edging back from him.

Where had all this suddenly come from?

"So are you," he came back instinctively defending himself. He changed his tack however when he saw her expression. "Look, I know stuff is different, but we are the same, you and me; we're the same people," he reasoned.

"No we're not!" she argued, her voice rising in pitch.

"Well, who are we then?" he snapped back.

She groaned, forced to answer, "We are two people playing this game until we get out of here tomorrow morning and find the surveillance discs. Then I go back to my charity work, and you go back to," she hesitated, "I don't know Dempsey, finding more criminals to put away I suppose. We live completely different lives now," she stressed.

A frown played about his brow as though her words had stung him. He studied her face, searching for something. The moments passed until he finally blurted out in frustration,

"Okay, I made a mistake! Aint you ever made a mistake Harry? So what you gonna do, punish me forever for it?"

She put her hand to her head. "It's not about that. I'm not trying to punish you. I've just moved on," she insisted.

She had to be strong, she just had to be, because there was no future between them, and just him being there then was making her unhappy. God, she needed to get out of there.

"What, so that's it then?" he said, his eyes boring into hers.

The room seemed to hold its breath suddenly. As though something had just been said that couldn't be taken back. He was waiting for an answer and she had the feeling that her response would make or break everything between them. The finality of the situation hit her then, leaving a churning feeling in her stomach. But why? She had already made the decision that she didn't want to see him again seven years ago after he'd left. "But he left you then, so you had no control. Now you do," a voice in her head whispered. She hadn't had to face him then either. Time had just passed; it had been easier. Now he was there asking the question, forcing her to answer.

What was she going to say? She stood, her eyes clinging to his, eyes she might not ever look into again if she chose to push her point. Moments passed. The song came to an end and the disc stopped, throwing the room into a tense silence.

He couldn't believe she was suggesting that she never wanted to see him again! What never? Ever?

Finally, he put an end to the silence. "Just 'cause I was in New York, it don't mean I didn't want to see you…or wasn't thinkin' 'bout you," he added, unsure of what else to say.

After seven years, she'd assumed that she had faded from his thoughts. She wasn't sure why or how the next question had slipped out, but it had. "Were you?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied, grasping at hope, "all the time. You were my partner; I always missed that. Every time I was on a case, it wasn't the same."

Dempsey was relieved that he seemed to be getting somewhere with Harry at last… that was until her expression hardened very abruptly after his last comment.

"Well, you'll find other _partners_ no doubt," she said, turning from him.

What was she thinking of? She should have known the answer! The only way to stop this madness was to put some space between them, like she had before. She paced to the door but stopped in front of it with nowhere else to go.

He stared at her back, his heart sinking. He just didn't understand what was going through her head. But he had to try to get through to her. It didn't make any difference if he had new partners or not; he'd missed her.

"But we had some good times, didn't we?" he pushed with an uncertainty that simply tore at her further. "You and me, Harry? Eh, Harry? C'mon."

Yes they'd had good times… and bad too. But more than anything, they'd been some of the most intense moments of her life. She hated having to acknowledge to herself though that yes, she wanted those times back again. Damn it, she did! If she had a choice, she would swap her life now for the life she had then…before she used to get cold sweats at the thought of finding Dempsey dead one day, or standing and watching him being shot to death in front of her…before he'd disappeared and she'd convinced herself that her fears had come true… and definitely before three years after he'd left, when she'd realised that Dempsey leaving was nothing compared to the shock and pain she'd found herself in. That was the worst time of her life and there were moments when she had seriously doubted her ability to pull herself through.

But pull herself through she had. Okay, so she was never going to be quite the same again, but she had accepted that and found peace… that was until he'd turned up out of the blue earlier that day, reminding her of happier times and making her want those back again!

"Harry?" he questioned once more.

She finally turned back to him, both hands in her hair, her head feeling as if it were about to explode.

"Yes, okay, we had some good times Dempsey, but you're not seeing my point!" she shouted, beginning to pace the room, holding her head.

"Well, what is your point then?" he shouted back, watching her pace to and fro, her eyes squeezed shut, her hands at her temples. There was something she wasn't telling him; he could sense it.

"I can't do this now; I'm not doing this now," she said to herself.

He caught her then in mid pace, grabbing hold of her elbow to halt her. "Doin' what?" he asked with growing concern. Her face was a mask of pain.

"This," she replied, snatching her arm out of his grasp and backing away, "any of this." She turned, scanning the room through watery eyes for somewhere to go to get away from him. There was nowhere. She was trapped.

In desperation, she strode over to the window, fumbling blindly with the handle in an attempt to open it.

In seconds Dempsey was beside her, trying to catch hold of her hands. "Woa, wait a minute," he said, "what you tryin' to do?"

She pushed his hands away and resumed her effort to free the catch. "I just want some fresh air, alright?" she replied, trying her hardest to sound reasonable.

"Hold on a second will ya?" he said, grabbing both her hands and turning her to him.

"Get off me Dempsey," she demanded.

"Hey look, I'm just checkin' you aint gonna throw yourself outta there the way you're reactin'."

"I'm not going to throw myself out of there," she said through gritted teeth. He failed to release her hands however and simply searched her face, taking in the dampness of her eyes with confusion and concern. "Oh good Lord!" she exclaimed, tugging at her hands. "When are you going to get the message Dempsey? I want you to go away and leave me!"

Did she mean forever, or just in that room? To hell with it, fine! He'd leave her to jump out the damn window if she wanted to!

Abruptly releasing her hands, he turned and strode away from her.

She finally found sanctuary in the icy cold night air after having dealt with the catch, thrown open the window and leant out as far as she could. Hanging her head, she gave into her emotions and sobbed.

With the sounds of her distress ringing in his ears, Dempsey charged over to the drinks cabinet to find something as strong as possible. He settled on a whiskey, grabbed a glass, along with the entire bottle, and strode over to the chess table to take a seat. Sweeping a hand angrily across the few remaining pieces on the board, they clattered to the ground whilst he planted his whiskey glass and bottle in the middle and began to drink. Stalemate.


	9. Chapter 9

After the second glass of whiskey, Dempsey had expected to feel at least a little better. He didn't. Neither apparently did Harry, as her tears hadn't subsided at all. She'd been sobbing now constantly for the past ten minutes at least. It was torturous for Dempsey, particularly considering that he was forced to just sit there and listen to her without being able to do anything. He sighed and went to turn to take a look at her, but changed his mind and poured himself another drink. Maybe the third one would work?

Nope, but at least Harry's sobs had faded by then. He'd seen her cry before, but never like that. Something was badly wrong. But what should he do now? She'd told him in no uncertain terms that she didn't want him anywhere near her, so how could he find out what was wrong? He sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. He groaned, and turned to glance back at her. Her head was leaning against the frame of the window and she was staring outside. She stood there so still, just staring.

Contemplating the whiskey bottle again momentarily, he finally gave up on that idea and stood. He'd go and try to talk to her. He took a few steps in her direction but stopped, not having a clue what to say, and still not entirely sure how she would react to him either. He returned to his seat. Toying with his empty whiskey glass, he sat in the silence, cringing at his own inability to do anything.

Time ticked by and the silence stretched on. Still she was standing by that window, staring into space. Damn it, this was unbearable. Enough was enough!

"Harry, you gonna tell me what's wrong now?" he asked.

No reply.

"Harry, c'mon," he said, rising again from his seat, but this time not stopping until he was standing beside her. "Harry?" he placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder, trying to get her attention. She closed her eyes. His voice softened. "Harry," he insisted, "you gotta tell me what's wrong… c'mon…you gotta," he stressed.

Finally, she took in a deep breath, turned her head slightly and opened her eyes. The light from the room lit the profile of her face, revealing her pain in the red rawness of her eyes and tear soaked cheeks… but she still refused to look at him.

"Harry, speak to me damn it!" he shouted out, suddenly losing his patience.

The harshness of his voice seemed to shake her out of her trance then. Wiping the excess of tears from her cheeks with two hands, she turned to him at last, looking almost surprised to see him there. He searched her face with a frown.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. It was a shaky sound. "I don't know why…" she trailed off, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. He could see tears forming again as she blinked a few times at an attempt to disperse them. "I don't know where all that came from," she finished, her voice overly cheery as she lowered her gaze to him again.

"Are you kiddin me?" he replied incredulously. "You don't cry like that and not know why!"

She groaned and covered her face with her hands. "Look, I just wanted to be alone, but we're locked in this bloody office!" she said, dropping her hands. "If we weren't, then you wouldn't have had to witness that. Can we just drop the subject please and try to get some sleep?"

He shook his head. "No! No we aint dropin' the subject. I wanna know what's wrong!"

She stared at him in dismay. She'd have to tell him something. He'd not leave it alone otherwise.

"I urm…" She fiddled with one earlobe. "I suppose seeing you again brought back memories… of before…" Suddenly her throat began to ache and the words got stuck there.

"Before what?" he asked, still at a loss.

Her heart started to beat with anxiety, and with the adrenalin came the threat of more tears. God, she couldn't start crying again! Her mouth became dry though, making it difficult for her to swallow back her emotion. She glanced down at the desk to her right, if only to focus on something.

"Bef…before…" she struggled.

"Before what!" he shouted.

She turned to him then, her watery eyes pleading with him, until she eventually spoke again. "Before my father… before he..." she faded off, unable to finish the sentence.

It only took a few seconds until his eyes widened as realisation hit him. He had a sudden vivid picture in his head of Harry and her father embracing each other affectionately. He knew, from just seeing them together in the past, what a close relationship she'd had with her father. The pain of losing his own mother was also not a distant memory for him either.

He glanced away from her. "I'm sorry," he said, a little awkwardly. "There any tissues in here?" he asked, suddenly realizing that there was at least something practical he could do for her. It didn't take long for him to find some in one of the desk drawers. He picked up the box and plucked out a few tissues, handing them to her and placing the rest on the desktop beside her.

She wiped her eyes and cheeks, and pushed her hair back off her face, inhaling deeply. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Like I said, I think it was remembering the SI 10 years, when he was still here." She bit down on her quivering lip.

"When did he pass away?" Dempsey asked gently.

She ran a hand through her hair. "Four years ago. Like I said, I don't know why I'm like this now."

He watched her for a moment before speaking. "You know, sometimes people can't grieve proper at the time. Then their bodies kinda take over later. It's all gotta come out eventually," he shrugged.

She gave a weak laugh. "Well, I'd rather it hadn't all come out now…" She paused then and thought for a moment. "…how do you know all of that anyway?"

He leant back against the desk with his hands in his pockets. "When I was workin' for the NYPD, you know, before they sent me here, some jerk upstairs said I hadda go see a shrink after my father died." He rolled his eyes.

For a moment, a slight frown flickered across her brow, that was until she envisaged him with the shrink and suddenly burst out laughing.

Amusement lit up his face. "What?" he smiled.

"I'm sorry," she said, half laughing, half crying, "I just had a vision of your face as the shrink tried to psychoanalyse you."

He laughed. "Yeah, think I gave him a hard time. I only went twice. Then he recommended I see another shrink. They never pushed it after that."

"I bet."

Okay, so she still had tears streaming down her face but she was smiling now at least. That was a relief. Eventually the laughter in the room faded however, and there ensued an awkward silence, where Harry averted her face from him, staring at the desktop, and Dempsey watched silent tears still falling down her face. She'd been through all this and he hadn't even known.

It suddenly hit him then that she was right, seven years _was_ a long time, and a lot _had _changed. Then doubts flooded his head. They only knew each other because of SI10. Not in a million years would their paths have crossed otherwise. What she'd said had been true; they did live different lives. Police work was the one thing that had brought them together, wasn't it? But now she wasn't a cop anymore. So where did they go from there?

They could be friends. What, see each other every now and then for a coffee? Nah. He wanted to see her every day, like he had before. He wanted the thrill of not knowing what each day would bring working with her, who they would foil, him and Harry. They had been unbreakable. How could they bring two totally different lives together now though? So what if they found the surveillance discs tomorrow and that was it? What was he going to do? He couldn't just turn and walk away from her forever.

He felt that dilemma even more intensely witnessing her tears. He hated seeing her like that. She always seemed so strong; she was strong enough to deal with hardened criminals for goodness sake! But seeing her so distraught like that made him suddenly realize her vulnerability. If he could just think of the right thing to do or say, maybe it would make everything right again between them. He knew what he wanted to do, but the physical contact hadn't exactly gone too well earlier that evening.

Despite that however, he instinctively took one hand out of his pocket and reached a hesitant arm out to her, catching hold of one of her hands. She lifted questioning eyes to him but the expression of concern on his face took away any caution she might have felt. He uncurled her fingers with his and they held onto that small contact, their fingers clinging to each other's as the moments passed, both hesitant and unsure, until a single tear spilt out over her lashes and dripped down her cheek. It was all the prompting he needed.

"Come here," he said finally, taking his other hand out of his pocket and standing up. She was drawn to him as he placed an arm around her shoulder.

It was meant as the friendly gesture of an ex-partner, who he had shared a lot with, wanting to provide some comfort during a difficult time. But as soon as he felt her near, and her body shaking with grief, his instinct was to hold her closer, to take that pain away if there was any way he could. He felt her cling on to his shirt and that was enough for him to move his other arm around her waist. Now their chests and stomachs were touching in an incredibly warm and intimate way, emphasizing their closeness. God he'd missed her! He could feel her stomach shudder as her grief poured out and he tightened his hold on her, unsure of which he wanted more, to comfort her, or to stop her from slipping out of his life again. He felt her arms creep around his waist and he knew, for at least that moment, that she wanted him there.

Maybe she shouldn't have taken his hand and accepted his embrace, but it seemed silly not to. He knew her; he'd known her for a long time, and, no matter how long he'd been gone for, nothing changed that. There was something so familiar about him, something comforting. Forget all the flirting and innuendos, this was something tangible and real. In whatever unconventional, backhanded way, they could confide in each other. It worked, and it made her feel better…

"Dempsey, he was just…he was the person who loved me the most in this world," she said, feeling the panic of her father's absence. "I'm afraid now that he's gone," she confided tearfully.

What if everyone left her and she was completely alone?

His arms held her to him a little more closely then. "You don't have to be afraid," he whispered into her ear. "And, I do know too," he assured her. "Harry…" he hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether to say what was in his head. He decided to risk sharing. "I lost my mother also."

"What?" she pulled away from him then with a frown and covered her mouth. "Oh God, and here I am going on about…"

He shook his head and pulled her back to him. "It's okay. I just wanted to let you know you aint on your own in this." After a short silence he spoke up again. "It's weird, I always just thought she'd be there. Dumb eh."

She felt a sudden pang of guilt for focusing only on her own fears and loneliness, prompting her to verbalise the thing that had haunted her the most about her father's death.

"He was alone…" she admitted, "when it happened. I should have been there. I can't bear to think of him alone," she sobbed. "I don't know how to cope with that."

He had no answers either, his only answer was to lean his head towards hers, brushing his cheek against her temple and resting it there, willing his presence to take away some of her pain.

Her head fell against his shoulder then as she gave into her grief and accepted the support he was giving her.

Now that he felt so close to her, again his fears about them parting came back. There was another reason though why he couldn't just walk away from her. He wasn't leaving her with that Richie guy. For a start, he didn't trust him. There had been something bugging him about the guy and the whole situation for a while. And anyway, even if he was genuine, would he know what made her tick? Would he know when she was being too stubborn and proud to show any weaknesses, when she really needed comforting? Would he sense when there was something wrong and not give up until he found out what it was? Would he know her like her partner did, the person who had faced so much with her, the person who knew her probably more than she knew herself?

His hand lifted to her head then as she rested it against him. He brushed her hair aside, so that his fingers could find her neck, where he caressed her gently in soft comforting strokes.

She really should move away now. He didn't seem inclined to move anytime soon though. Well, a few more moments wouldn't hurt. She should just accept tonight for what it was and not think too much about it. It was neither of their faults that they had been locked in there after all. And anyway, after they had sorted out this murder, she'd probably not see him again. He'd disappear somewhere. She was okay with that…

She reached for him then, grasping onto his arm, and he glanced down at her for a moment, reacting by tightening his hold on her in return. He wanted so much at that moment to know every way that he could comfort her most. He sighed, his breath warm on her neck. He bent his head so that it was next to hers again, his lips hovering on her neck where his fingers had been. He ached to feel her skin against his lips, he suddenly couldn't think about anything else. They were so close to her neck, her soft skin, it was so incredibly hard for him to hold back, but his fear of her withdrawal from their physical contact earlier stopped him.

He held her there in silence for as long as he could, until finally, begrudgingly, he was forced to release her. His embrace lightened and his arms slipped to her waist as he stepped back, still reluctant to give up that last contact.

His eyes were soft and smoky, and when he spoke, his voice was not much more than a whisper.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you," he said. She knew that had come from his heart and it brought fresh tears to her eyes. What the hell, he'd seen her cry now anyway.

"And me for you," she replied, suddenly regretting the loss of those seven years.

He reached out and wiped a tear away with his thumb. "And I know it aint makin' up for nothin' Harry, but I'm here for you now," he said.


	10. Chapter 10

"Good Lord, think we should tidy up a bit," Harry said suddenly, glancing around the room and anticipating the cleaners' reaction in the morning when they opened the door.

She moved away from him then, busying herself with clearing away the food and replacing the chess set. Besides, if she stayed where she was for any longer, she'd be in tears again.

So, what would happen next? She'd make the room as spotless as she could and then settle down on the sofa for the night. Then it would be morning. He wasn't sure he was ready for that... ready for the whole Borelli mess to rear its ugly head again, or ready for what to do about the Harry situation. Besides, he did most of his thinking at night lately, sleeping only when it was necessary.

He watched her systematically gear them closer to departure.

"You want a drink?" he asked her, holding up the whiskey bottle as she swept past him.

She glanced down at it briefly, contemplating their assault on Doug's alcohol reserves.

"Dempsey, we really oughtn't…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, poor old Doug. So you want a drink or not?" he asked.

He thought she was being uptight. Well, if she didn't want a drink, she wasn't going to have one. But… considering… it hadn't exactly been an easy night.

"I'll have _one_," she stressed, slipping the chess set back onto the shelf, picking up another whiskey glass, moving back to the desk and taking a seat on the office chair.

Thank God! He poured her a drink and leant back against the window ledge on the other side of the desk opposite her.

"So," she began, taking a sip of the whiskey and trying not to wince at its effects, " do you have any ideas as to who would want to murder Roberto?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied, "me."

"Very funny Dempsey, apart from you?" she pushed.

He sighed and shook his head. "No. You have any ideas?"

She thought for a moment. "Well, someone from your neck of the woods I would think," she replied. "Someone from the same mob who probably wanted to take control?"

"That don't make no sense," he contradicted.

She took a sip of the whiskey and thought for a moment. "But who else would have motive?"

"Donno," he replied, "but if they wanted to hit Roberto, they sure as hell wouldn't come here to do it. They'd want to do it on their own turf, and let everyone there know about it," he reasoned.

"Okay, then who?" she asked.

"Someone here?" he questioned.

"But who? Why?" she came back.

He had some ideas but he wasn't going to air them at that moment.

"Look," she began, "chances are that it's someone from that mob, and maybe they thought he was an easier target here."

"Nah, it don't work like that. It's all about territory and showin' you're in control out there; they wouldn't want him to be an easier target. Aint no glory in that," he replied.

She considered his comment and thought for a moment. "No," she shook her head, "I refuse point-blank to believe that it would have been someone from the club. I've known everyone here for years."

Dempsey became suddenly very still, and stared strangely at Harry, his eyes distant though. Her words, _"I refuse point-blank..."_ rewound in his head.

"What?" she asked, noticing his distraction.

He shook his head and refocused on her. "I know one way of provin' if it was someone from the Borelli mob. We need to study the crime scene more though, and the body."

"What are we looking for?" she asked, sipping her drink.

"Evidence that he was or wasn't shot at point- blank range. If it was anyone from the Borelli mob, that's how they would have finished him. It was a pride thing, after the brothers failed to kill Danny. Every murder connected with the Borelli's since they found out he was still alive was done at point-blank range... to make sure the job was done right," he explained.

She nodded and took another sip of her drink. "Oh, something else," she pointed to him, "how did they get here, the murderer and Roberto I mean?"

"If it was someone from the club, they were already here," he pointed out.

Why was he so convinced that it was someone from the club? The thought was ridiculous.

"So, how did Roberto get here then?" she asked.

"Look, I dunno; maybe they moved the car or somethin'. What we need is to get hold of those surveillance discs to find out anythin' for sure."

"I've been thinking about that too..." she began.

Dempsey had the feeling he wasn't going to like what she was about to say.

"... how exactly are we going to get our hands on those discs?"

Dempsey frowned. What was her problem now? "We ask Denny... Dennis, whatever his name is. We've been through this; he will hand them over or people are gonna find out about his little indiscretions."

She shook her head. "Dempsey, I was joking. Dennis is a married man, and I've got to still socialize with these people you know; I'm not having you ride roughshod into this, causing all sorts of trouble. Besides, it's most likely that she has the discs, if either of them do. I can't imagine him leaving that sort of thing lying around for his wife to see."

He sighed. "Right, so we go see her then. You know where she lives?"

She nodded. "But.."

"But what?" he came back impatiently.

She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs. "How are we going to approach this?"

"What d'ya mean? We go ask her for the discs!" Why did women have to complicate everything?

"Err right. And what reason are we going to give for knowing that she has them? Do you intend to tell her that you were watching her have sex with Dennis?"

"Yeah, too right...if it means…" he stopped to think for a second, "…Well, not lettin' her know we watched exactly," he backtracked.

"You watched," she corrected.

His eyes narrowed at her.

"But..." he paused for thought again, "…we could say... we knew because...ok," he gave up, "we don't ask for them; we go break into her house and take a look around."

"We _are not_ breaking into Sue's house," she came back adamantly.

A pulse on Dempsey's temple began to twitch.

"But," she put a finger up to stop him from exploding, "What we do is pay her a visit and you can distract her while I take a look around."

"Alright, already; we do that then." He took a sip of his whiskey thoughtfully. "How well you know this Sue woman anyway?" he asked, a little out of the blue.

She shrugged. "We're not best friends or anything like that, but she's been coming to the club for years, so we're not exactly strangers either."

"'Cause you know everyone in the club, right?" he replied.

She bristled slightly at his tone. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do."

"You spend a lot of time here then," he observed.

"The club provides a venue for quite a lot of the charity functions; Doug has really helped us out a lot," she said defensively. "Dempsey, is there a point to this conversation?"

"Is this Doug guy married?" he asked, completely ignoring her previous question.

She frowned. "He's divorced. Why?"

He nodded, as if that information had confirmed something. What on earth was going through his head?

"You said 'us'," he went on, "that Doug had helped 'us' out a lot..."

"Richie and I," she supplied.

His eyes widened slightly. "So you _work_ with Richie then?"

"Sometimes, yes."

He nodded. "And how long has Richie boy been comin' to the club?" he asked.

She placed her whiskey glass down on the desk in front of her and folded her arms.

He made a mental note to cool it on the questions. Harry wasn't happy.

"Do you think I don't know what you're doing?" she asked.

"What?" he replied innocently. "Just takin' an interest in your new life."

"No you're not," she contradicted, "You're mentally investigating my club..._ and_ my fiancé too!" she added.

"_Your_ club?" he quoted her with surprise. "And anyway, you aint engaged to the guy; you turned him down," he reminded her.

"Well, the club that I belong to," she corrected. "And I didn't turn him down, I..."

"You what?" he jumped in, noting her hesitation.

"I... postponed it," she finished.

He smiled but said nothing. Eww, he was beginning to annoy her now.

"I really don't see what business it is of yours anyway," she said, picking her whiskey glass back up, swivelling on the chair and feigning interest in a magazine on the desk. She turned the pages with a little more vigour than was needed.

"Pipe down will ya," he replied, watching her hands and wondering if one of the pages was going to rip in them. "You're probably right; it's most likely someone from New York."

She glanced up at him then, narrowing her eyes.

But he didn't really believe that ; he was giving in way too easily. Well, he could believe what he wanted. He'd find out the truth in the end soon enough.

"So, what d'ya do exactly... this charity work?" he asked, finishing his drink and reaching out for the bottle to pour another. A frown flickered across her face. He seemed to be drinking more than usual.

"I organize functions, approach businesses for donations and sponsorship, that kind of thing," she replied casually, her focus still hovering on the magazine.

He contemplated her for a moment. "And you enjoy that job?" he asked.

She glanced across at him and nodded. "Yes, yes I do. I like knowing that I'm helping people."

He sipped his whiskey. "Course you do, 'cause that's you Harry, but you were helpin' people at SI10 too," he pointed out.

She sighed. "I know, but now I'm helping people in different ways."

He turned to glance out of the window for a while before turning back to her. "I know it's a sore subject for you, but don't you ever miss SI10?" he asked, "just a bit?"

Her expression softened. "Of course I do, but I've moved on now. It doesn't mean that I don't have many fond memories of working there though," she added.

His face lightened. "Yeah, what?"

She stared at him in silence for a second. "What, what?"

"What 'fond' memories do you have?" he pushed.

"Specifically?" she asked with surprise.

"Yeah, specifically," he answered.

"Err…" She thought for a moment, contemplating memories, whilst feeling the pressure to say the appropriate thing. Then she chuckled as one popped into her head. "I seem to remember you playing a gay antiques collector; that was very entertaining."

He smiled. "Yeah, I thought you were gonna bust our cover on that one."

She laughed. "I very nearly did!"

His eyes smiled at her across the room. "Yeah, we had some fun doin' the undercover jobs… I thought we did Debbie and Danny Salaputro exceptionally well," he grinned, holding her gaze.

She held his in return. "Ah yes, Mr Sapalutro, I remember him."

The private joke kept the amusement in their expressions and fused them together in the moment. Then her gaze wandered for a second as something entered her mind. He noticed this immediately. She was remembering something.

"What?" he asked.

Her eyes returned to his, a grin playing at her mouth. "I was just thinking, you must be lacking in your old age Dempsey; you're new in town, and you haven't booked the Honeymoon Suit."

A smile developed. "How d'ya know I haven't?"

She laughed. "Well if you have, it's an awful waste."

He took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving her face. "Yeah well, I can always extend it for tomorrow night too."

Her smile lingered for probably longer than it should have. Then she came to her senses, finally standing.

"Well, I'm going to at least attempt some sleep. You should too," she advised, clearing up the last few glasses and plates.

"Yeah, well it aint exactly the Park Lane" he said, glancing at the sofa and jumping up suddenly as a thought hit him. In three strides he was there, throwing himself down across its length, his hands underneath his head, a smile on his face.

She swung her head towards the sudden commotion.

"Turn the light out will ya?" he said.

She approached the sofa and crossed her arms, glaring down at him. "Err, and where do you propose I sleep?" she asked.

He patted the column of sofa space next to him.

"Oh no," she shook her head. "I hardly think it appropriate, do you?"

"Appropriate for what? We gotta sleep aint we?" he replied, rolling over onto his side, punching the cushion under his head and closing his eyes.

Great! Such a gentleman.

She stood there for a moment in the vague hope that he would actually change his mind and move over to one side of the sofa for her. Nope, not a chance! Grrr.

Retrieving the blanket, which she had left on the back of the chair, she stomped over to the sofa, grabbed hold of his legs and yanked them off, claiming the corner for herself. Seconds later however, his legs moved back, covering her lap and clamping her to the seat. He shrugged his shoes off.

"Dempsey? Feet!" she exclaimed.

No response.

Of all the pig headed, arrogant!

Pushing his legs away, she stood again, ready to move to the undoubted, extreme discomfort of the desk chair. She only got two steps away however before she heard a frustrated growl,

"Where you goin'?"

After which his hand shot out, grabbing her arm and hurling her back to the sofa, where she fell unceremoniously into the space next to him.

"Dempsey!" she began.

"Stop bein' so uptight will ya?" he cut in, watching her lie stiffly on her back, "what d'ya think I'm gonna do?" he asked, his eyes lifting to her face beside his.

"Well, nothing, but..."

"We gotta sleep, right? There's only one sofa, and I sure as hell aint sleepin' sittin' up," he stressed.

Hmm, she hated it when he sounded so reasonable.

She sighed and shot him a suspicious look.

He ignored her and wriggled himself deeper into the sofa cushions, closing his eyes again.

Well, she guessed that she didn't exactly have much choice. And she really didn't relish the thought of attempting sleep on that office chair either.

Slowly, and a little stiffly, with gradual acceptance of her situation, she turned on the sofa, so that her back was facing Dempsey, and set to the task of attempting sleep.

This was weird. She hadn't seen him for seven years and now she was suddenly lying down next to him.

The longer she lay there too, the more aware of him she became. They weren't actually touching at all, but they might as well have been. There must have been an inch between them at best... an inch of air that quickly warmed, so much so that she was no longer sure if his body was in fact touching hers or not. She could hear him, almost feel him, breathing. It was a concentrated breathing, as though he was thinking about something.

Dempsey's attention was fixed with fascination down the gap in the blanket. It was that damn dress again! He couldn't seem to keep his eyes from it. He ran his gaze down over her bare shoulder and arm, which was draped along her hip...her hand resting on her thigh. There his eyes lingered for a while on her hand...her fingers touching the hem of her dress... before they moved up his favourite fascination for that day, her naked back. He took his time, unashamedly caressing her with his eyes, imagining his fingers replacing them... sending shivers down her spine, then his lips... minute kisses, teasing,... she arches her back., her willpower crumbling... His gaze had travelled up over the arch of her back by then, to her shoulder blades, and then back down to the furthest her dress would allow him to view. Still, he continued his journey over her dress nonetheless, to appreciate the roundness that he had no hope of ever seeing, apart from in his mind's eye, which was frustratingly never clear enough.

He definitely wasn't asleep. She could just tell. She could sense that he was still alert. God, what was he doing? She had a clue. Without even looking, she could feel his eyes on her, and the more she realized it, the more aware of him being behind her she became. Her dress wasn't transparent, was it? She had the crazy notion then that his eyes could make it so. And she only had the scantiest pair of lacy briefs on too. For goodness sake, he couldn't see them! Although, knowing Dempsey, maybe he could. Good grief, how was she ever going to get any sleep like this, with her heart beating a million miles a minute?

Dempsey's imagination was running away with him. Well, he wasn't going to get any sleep, that was for sure, so he might as well fill the time with making the most of the situation. Now the removal of the dress. That would be incredibly easy. She'd be putty in his hands at that point anyway... yes she would! Hey this was his fantasy, so in his fantasy she would! She'd be lying there bursting for him to go further. So, anyway, he'd simply run his hands up her back to her shoulder blades and then over her shoulders, taking the straps of the dress with them... then down her arms, slipping the material down her front. Oooh and he'd forgotten about the fact that she had to be braless, so, since his hands were there at that point, it would be a crime for him not to 'appreciate' those womanly attributes too. Grrr, touching Harry for the first time, he'd take his time with that; she'd be purring by the time he'd finished! Dempsey shifted slightly on the sofa, getting more and more restless by the minute.

What was going through his head now? And why couldn't he stay still? Oh well, at least he hadn't tried to touch her; that was a relief. Actually, why hadn't he tried to touch her? Hmm, maybe he knew he'd get a telling off. But whatever the reason was, she knew without a shadow of a doubt, that Dempsey was like a coiled spring back there. But surely he had to fall asleep soon. How long could one man look at a woman's back for? Now _she_ couldn't sleep without knowing why _he_ couldn't sleep! Okay, she could read Dempsey's mind well enough; what would Dempsey be thinking at a time like this? Oh God, he'd be bored with the 'looking' stage by now; he'd have gone on to the 'imagining' stage. He'd be taking her clothes off!

Now he was at the really good bit, easing the dress over her hips, he'd reach down to relieve her of the dress completely. He shifted again.

Was he kissing her in his mind, his hands in her hair, his lips on hers...hot and demanding? Had his touch moved down her back? Reached under the material... or slipped it off, giving his hands free reign! She shivered slightly, readjusting the blanket.

Dempsey was now downright uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with being cramped!

"You asleep?" he asked. Clearly she wasn't.

"Yes," she replied, closing her eyes.

He growled and tried to turn away from her, but this only brought their backs into contact. He had to face it, there was no way he was getting any sleep anytime soon. Giving up on lying next to her and having to suffer any more aching frustration, he threw back the blanket and climbed over her.

She sat up, draping the blanket over her shoulders and tilting her head to see what he was doing.

He headed straight for the drinks cabinet and the half bottle of whiskey. Picking up a glass and the bottle, he made for the desk, where he poured himself a drink. He had to clear his head and stop thinking about stripping Harry!

"You alright?" she asked.

He looked up at her from his whiskey glass.

"Thought you were asleep?" he replied.

"I am; I was just wondered if you were okay. You must be tired and jetlagged," she pointed out.

"Funny, can't get to sleep," he answered wryly. He gestured to the sofa with his whiskey glass hand, "Make the most of havin' all the sofa though Harry; cause after this, if I'm feelin' sleepy, you never know, I might be comin' back there."


	11. Chapter 11

An ice cold shiver shot across Harry's back and her heart kick-started into treble its regular pace, as that terrifying sound assaulted her ears and brought her out of her sleep with frightening speed. It was the sound of pure terror; a holler of jumbled unintelligible sounds emanating from someone in intense pain and fear.

"Dempsey!" she shouted out instinctively, bolting off the sofa and searching the room with confusion through blurry eyes.

He was sitting on the desk chair, the whiskey glass still in his hand, his feet up on the desk, his head slumped to one side, resting against the wall which the back of the chair was pressed against. Okay, so he wasn't being attacked. Her heart began to resume its usual rhythm.

"Let him go," he mumbled.

Oh God, he was having a nightmare.

"Give me the knife," he urged, his head jerking to the other side.

"Dempsey," she said gently, approaching the desk.

"Take me; don't touch him," he went on, oblivious of both Harry and where he was.

"Dempsey," she said a little louder. "Wake up."

This time he appeared to have registered the sound in the room as his head moved in the direction of her voice, but his eyes remained closed. She reached the chair where he was sitting, crouching down to his level and holding onto his hand, which was clenched onto the chair arm.

"Dempsey, wake up," she repeated.

"Don't cut him. I aint afraid, cut me, just let him go!" he shouted in pure panic.

"Dempsey," she said firmly this time, shaking his arms. "Wake up, you're dreaming."

He finally woke with a roar, his red eyes flying open as he jerked forward suddenly on his chair. The abrupt movement of his hands sent the whiskey glass crashing onto the chair arm, smashing the glass in the process. He stood, looking around him in bewilderment, holding out a blood streaked hand.

"Are you alright? Let me take a look," Harry said, reaching for his injured hand.

He pulled it back and turned from her, a deep frown on his face as he flung the window open for some fresh air.

"Dempsey, let me see to your hand," she reprimanded him.

"Stop fussin'," he replied, his back still turned to her. "Go back to sleep."

"I want to know that you are alright," she pushed.

"I'm fine; just go back to sleep," he repeated.

He wasn't fine at all. She had attributed the fact that he'd looked so tired to his jet lag, but having witnessed first-hand that nightmare, and considering how much whiskey he seemed to be getting through, she was now certain that he was having problems sleeping. This Borelli business had really taken its toll.

Harry bent to open the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a First Aid kit. She placed it on the desk and opened it, pulling out bandages, cotton wool and a small bottle of iodine. Then she approached Dempsey again, determined to check his hand. She moved to stand by the window so that he was almost facing her, and she took hold of his arm, lifting it. He immediately twisted it out of her grip.

"Dempsey," she began angrily, "Stop being a child and let me see to your hand!"

He tutted, but reluctantly held his hand out for her.

She took hold of it, turning it over to examine his palm. There was a small, but fairly deep cut just below his thumb.

"Keep it there; I'll be back in a moment," she said, moving to the fridge and picking up a small bottle of mineral water. On her way past the desk, she grabbed the cotton wool, unscrewed the water bottle and wetted the soft pleat. She proceeded to clean the streaks of blood from off his hand and wrist, gently cleansing the sensitive area around the cut. Dempsey gazed down at her hands with fascination. Then she turned to the desk again and picked up the bottle of iodine, soaking another piece of cotton wool with the brown liquid. She returned to him, caught hold of his hand again, turning it round and holding the cotton wool to his cut.

"Hey! Awww!" he exclaimed, snatching his hand back. "What is that stuff?"

"Iodine," she answered. "Don't be a baby," she said, taking hold of his hand once more. "It will disinfect the cut."

"Stings like hell," he commented, wincing as she reapplied the iodine soaked cotton wool. Soon the burning sensation eased however, and he was able to bear the disinfection process without wanting to snatch his hand away again.

"You're a regular Florence Nightingale," Dempsey observed, watching her dress his wound.

She proceeded to wrap his hand with a bandage which she'd retrieved from the first aid box.

"Yes, well, I'm not having you bleeding all over this office," she replied sternly, aware that this kind of approach seemed to be working well. Next she would broach the subject of his nightmares, hopefully with some kind of success. "When did you last have a Tetanus injection?" she went on.

He frowned, "I dunno."

"In that case, you should have one," she advised, finally releasing his hand, satisfied that it was suitably dressed.

"Yes, mam," he came back with a half-smile.

"Now, how long have you been having those nightmares for?" she asked him as matter of factly as she could.

His smile faded, and he busied himself with studying the work she had done on his hand.

"I dunno," he shrugged.

"How long Dempsey?" she asked again.

"I dunno, alright!" he snapped. "A while I guess," he added.

She studied him paying way too much attention to his hand.

"It's the fact that you are sleep deprived that's worrying me at the moment, especially with what you have been dealing with lately. You need a clear head," she warned.

He gave a small fake sounding laugh, finally looking up at her. "Hey, sleep is for the weak; I don't need no sleep," he joked.

"Yes, you do," she countered firmly. "Well, at least your hand is clean and bandaged now."

He turned it over and studied it both sides, before dropping it. "Yeah, thanks."

She began to tidy away the cotton wool and first aid materials while he just stood there watching her. Finally, she looked across at him, after having replaced the first aid box back in the desk drawer.

"Are you coming back on the sofa?" she asked.

Fear of reoccurring nightmares and making a fool of himself in front of her again made him reluctant.

"I ain't tired," he replied, turning to glance out of the window.

"Dempsey, you need sleep. Why don't you just try," she suggested. "If you can't sleep, then get up again, but leave the whiskey alone," she added.

"I ain't tired Harry," he repeated. "I'll come when I'm tired."

Damn it. She'd make him get some sleep if it killed her.

Heading for the sofa, she plucked up the blanket, laying it out and slipping underneath it. She raised herself up on one elbow, with the blanket clinging to her front, and her back exposed in Dempsey's direction. Turning her head to speak over her shoulder, she called out to him,

"Dempsey…" There was something extremely suggestive in the way she voiced his name, making him turn from the window the moment he heard her.

"Will you come and share my blanket with me?" she asked.

He stared at her in surprise, quickly warming to the idea. For the next few moments, he made a pretence out of thinking about it, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip as if in contemplation.

"Seems like I could do with some sleep after all," he finally answered, striding across the room to the sofa. She moved across to make space for him but he just stood, grinning down at her. Then, without warning, he dived onto the sofa, scooping her up and rolling them both around, with the sounds of her shocked protest in his ears, until she was lying on top of him, his arms around her waist and a pair of astonished blue eyes gazing down into pair of amused brown ones.

"Now, now Harry, don't be takin' advantage of me tonight," he teased.

She pressed her lips together in a tight lipped smile. "Dempsey, when I said about sharing the blanket, I meant so that you could get some _sleep_," she emphasized.

"Yeah well, I had another idea. I was kinda picturing the blanket on a bed. Don't get me wrong, this sofa aint bad, but with a bed, there's more room to… roll around, you know, get into different positions. You know what I mean?" he grinned.

She shook her head at him. He was completely incorrigible.

"Yes, I'm afraid I do. You have an over active imagination Dempsey, now _sleep_," she stressed, waiting for him to lighten his hold on her.

Dempsey's grip remained steadfast however for a few moments while he enjoyed searching her face so close to his. He reached up with one hand and swept her hair back softly. The gesture changed the mood suddenly as the air began to crackle between them, and the longer their eyes clung, the more the air crackled. Suddenly the playful atmosphere was gone, replaced with something else. His eyes instinctively fell to her mouth, contemplating her glossy lips… wondering, imagining… She knew what he was doing. She needed to move but she suddenly felt frozen in the moment; nonetheless, acutely aware of how important it was that her next move be appropriate. As his eyes smouldered over her face however, she did the very thing she had told her brain not to do; her gaze lowered to his lips in return. Dempsey hadn't missed where her attention had moved to and his eyes widened, his heart racing with surprised excitement in response. Maybe he stood more of a chance than he realized.

Was she mad? What had she done that for? She shook her head to clear it and finally untangled herself from him, sliding into the space between Dempsey and the back of the sofa.

Dempsey lay for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, buzzing, with a million thoughts racing through his head, all of them involving Harry. If she wanted him to kiss her, boy could he oblige! He wasn't going to push it then though. He'd have to find the right time. Maybe she'd reject him, but then again, maybe she'd really wanted him to kiss her all along. With that exciting thought still in his head, he finally turned to see what Harry was doing. She was lying with her back to him again. To hell with that; he slid and arm underneath her and turned her, pulling her suddenly towards him.

"Dempsey?" she protested.

He was ready with a reply. "This sofa's too small to sleep like that; it aint comfortable."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I can't get to sleep like that," he added. After all, that was what she had wanted him to do: get some sleep.

She sighed and contemplated her next move. Damn it, she was tired too and it simply seemed petty to protest any more. Slowly she lowered her head onto his chest. He tightened his arm around her waist slightly in return, and pulled the blanket more snuggly around them, before studying her golden hair below his nose. It was hard to believe that he had spent seven years without her. Laying his head back onto the cushion behind his neck, he suddenly felt extremely warm and contented, and surprisingly enough, sleepy.

Having her there after the darkest of nightmares seemed to soothe his troubled mind and, for the first time in years, he slipped into a peaceful sleep, comforted by the warmth of her presence.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry slowly became aware of being entangled in someone else. It wasn't something she was used to waking up to …hold on!

Memories of yesterday came seeping into her head. Had that all really happened? Was it really her egotistical, overly sexed, American ex-partner that was wrapped around her, or had she imagined the whole thing?

She lifted her head and opened one eye cautiously.

Oh no, she truly hadn't. Oh dear Lord, Dempsey!

Just above her, slap bang in her line of vision, was an arrogantly jutting nose, unruly head of hair, soft, slightly lopsided smile… whatever he was dreaming about this time, he seemed to be enjoying it. She was relieved to realize that there was not a sign of tension in his whole body; he was fast asleep, and contentedly so.

Okay, so now probably her biggest worry at that point in time was the fact that she suddenly realized his hand had somehow found itself extremely far down the back of her dress! That was something new. Now, either it was only because he'd been a gentleman- not likely- that it hadn't slid past the edge of her underwear, or the fact that he'd done it unconsciously in his sleep. If so, then she couldn't very well berate him, considering that her own treacherous hand had ventured underneath his shirt! It lay rested on the hard surface of his chest, rising and falling with each breath he took. They must have both unintentionally just wanted to get warmer; yes, that was it.

The leg entanglement was unfortunate though. She'd never experienced the muscles of his thigh in quite that intimate a place before... what was she thinking, in any place before! But then again, her leg had been just as uninhibited, having flung itself over his, with his hand resting on her knee, keeping it in place there. Typical, just a few hours back from New York and he'd wangled himself into this kind of a position with her. What was it about Dempsey that he managed this kind of thing when no other man under such circumstances got anywhere close to this? Circumstances had just seemed to fall into his lap.

This was just a little too close for comfort though. She didn't remember them ever being quite so intimate before, certainly not on a sofa, laid out together for hours...hands and legs and bodies pressed against each other all night, and her unconscious of it. But she was more than conscious of it now, that was the problem, more than conscious of that hand of his right at the base of her back, his fingers splayed out, fingertips resting on the tender, sensitive skin just edging the lace of her underwear.

Oh Lord! Dempsey had nearly got his hands on her underwear! Things were getting out of hand. After seven years they should be more distant from each other, not getting more intimate by the minute! Mind you, Dempsey had been even more suggestive than he was before, if that was at all possible. Maybe it was watching that little x rated scene earlier that had started him off.

God, what happened if he moved his hand further down? What was she thinking that for?

There it was again, Dempsey and his bad influence. He just strolled into her life and all his erotic, inappropriate thoughts had rubbed off on her! Well, they really weren't the kind of thoughts that should be running through a lady's head...least of all an engaged lady's head...well, nearly engaged...perhaps going to be engaged.

What time was it anyway? As much as she wanted him to get that sleep he needed, if the cleaners were anywhere near to entering the office, she had to wake him up now. The last thing she wanted was for them to find her and Dempsey in that compromising position! Wriggling her arm from underneath her, she glanced down at her watch. It was only seven thirty. Normally the cleaners would be there by then but this was a Monday morning and since Doug was still away, the cleaners never came in till later. She could maybe doze there for a little longer. She shifted to move her arm into a more comfortable position, but, in his sleep, Dempsey must have sensed her movement and he also shifted in response. She glanced up at him to see if he was waking. His eyes were still closed though and the regular rhythm of his breathing told her that he was still in a dream world, despite the fact that he seemed to be a little more restless now. It didn't seem a nightmarish restlessness though, thank goodness, as that slight smile was till on his face. Maybe he was simply having nice, peaceful dreams.

She, on the other hand, was now wide awake, and the arm that she had moved was beginning to experience pins and needles. She shifted again, trying not to wake him.

"Mmm," he responded, turning his head towards the top of hers and, to her consternation, exactly as she had imagined, slipping that hand further down her dress and over the top of her lacy briefs!

She froze, not having a clue what to do, her heart racing in her chest.

'Move now,' the angel in her head told her.

'You don't want to wake him,' the devil answered. 'Wait to see what happens next.'

'It's totally inappropriate.'

'Quite exciting though. Besides, who will ever know?'

'You will know. You're practically engaged.'

'But you turned Richie down. And anyway, it's not like you're having an affair or anything; you just don't want to wake Dempsey.'

Then Dempsey's hand on her knee began to wander and she looked up at him again, convinced that he must be awake. He wasn't though, she could just sense it. Besides, from her earlier experience with him on the sofa, if he was conscious of where his hands were on her, his breathing would be quite different; she instinctively knew his alert state. This dream he was having was definitely an erotic one though.

The hand began to inch up her leg, his fingers seemingly enjoying the feel of her skin.

'Right, that's it; now you really do have to move.'

'He's not even awake; he doesn't know what he's doing. Don't punish him when he hasn't even done anything wrong.'

'But if he doesn't know what he's doing, then how do you know where he will stop?'

'Okay, so if he goes too far, stop him and then and wake him up. For now, leave him to enjoy his dream.'

The hand reached the barrier of her dress hem and hesitated. She held her breath.

'Stop him now.'

'Let him carry on.'

He sighed again, moving his head on the cushion and his hand too, pushing past the material. Her heart was beating so fast, she was sure it was going to wake him.

Then suddenly she flooded with heat and all there was in her entire world were his hands, the one causing havoc on the very base of her back, and the one easing up her leg. No other thoughts could penetrate the haze in her head apart from how his hands felt on her and where they were going to move to next.

The hand down the back of her dress had stilled, but was it there, she could feel the heat of his palm and fingers, a constant reminder of how far they had reached. But it was his other hand that was burning her up, inching higher and taking the material of her dress slowly with it.

'You have to stop this.'

'It's too late; if you wake him now, he will see by your face that you're aroused.'

Oh God, that was true! She couldn't wake him; he'd know immediately. She couldn't do anything. But what would happen if he touched her intimately? Then, to her utter astonishment, she realized that her body was actually burning for him to do just that! And worse, the more that thought hit her, the more her body burned for him to do it!

Oh god, it was too long since she'd had sex!

She should stop putting Richie off. Okay so the proposals were freaking her out somewhat, but clearly lack of sex was doing something crazy to her mind!

His hand abruptly stopped then. His wrist had come into contact with his own leg that was entangled with hers. His leg flinched in reaction to the feel of sudden contact with his wrist, and the muscle in his thigh flexed against her, the tiny movement heightening her pleasure to ridiculous proportions now. Damn it, she was aching so much! Oh my God, maybe she would just wake him up and tell him to touch her all over with those hands …everywhere!

As if reading her mind, Dempsey did wake up moments later. He was definitely awake as she felt him suddenly jolt and move his head to look down at her. She kept her eyes firmly closed and prayed that he couldn't feel her burning up. In reality, letting him know how she was feeling at that moment was probably asking for more trouble than she could handle.

Wooah, how did his hands get there? Dempsey grinned. Even in his sleep, his body's instincts were spot on! He was itching to move his hands though, feel more …explore. But Harry would murder him if he tried and woke her up. He could feel lace panties underneath one hand, Harry's lace panties! Grrrr. He wondered what colour they were. And then there was the softest flesh of one inner thigh underneath the other. Dempsey's sex drive always worked overtime in the morning, but this was enough to send it through the roof! Thank everything that was good for Gina and Dennis… for secret office sex, for locked doors, chess games, slow dances to songs when it's rainin', but most of all, thank goodness for sofas!

Then pandemonium hit, when the clear sound of voices could be heard in the adjoining room.

No! The cleaners! They were early!

Harry sprang into action, pushing at Dempsey in an attempt to untangle herself from him.

"The cleaners Dempsey, move, now!"

Dempsey was just as keen to move, as he really didn't want to be caught looking as randy as hell if the cleaners saw them lying on the sofa together. If that were the case, when he stood, they would see evidence of his randiness! If he was lucky though, and quick enough, he could be up and ready to walk past them, hopefully before they noticed.

He grabbed Harry by the waist and practically lifted her off the sofa and onto the floor. She scrambled to stand, hanging onto the sofa arm for support. By the time the door began opening, both of them were standing and ready to get out of there as soon as humanly possible!


	13. Chapter 13

"I can't _wait_ to take a long, hot bath," Harry sighed, slipping into the front seat of Dempsey's hire car.

Dempsey grinned as he turned on the ignition. "Yeah, I can imagine that."

Harry turned her head and glared at him. Okay, so she could hardly be angry at him for comments like that, considering her shocking behaviour back there. But it was just instinctive for her to react to his remarks. Besides, Dempsey knew nothing of what had happened, so everything was as normal, right?

"I mean, imagine that you can't wait for the bath," he clarified, unable to wipe the grin off his face.

She tutted, but then closed her eyes again. "Before I do anything else, I'm getting out of this dress and getting into that bath," she said, unable to help herself.

That image didn't stop Dempsey from grinning either.

In the process of backing out of the driveway however, Dempsey abruptly pulled to a halt. Harry's eyes opened. What was happening?

"Spoke too soon Harry, aint that Sue there?" he said, pointing to the woman who was making her way up the front steps of the club.

Oh God, yes it was.

"Yes, but…"

"Well, let's go talk to her; we gotta find out about those discs," he stressed.

She lifted her head and turned to him, not looking entirely happy he noticed. "Dempsey, I have been locked in a room with you all night; I haven't had a wash and I'm still wearing the same clothes as I was yesterday lunch time. I am not going in there with yesterday's clothes on!"

"Harry," he replied, with rising impatience, "I've got a stiff in the back of my car. This thing aint gonna wait; a little help here would be appreciated."

"Dempsey, there will probably be people in there who saw me yesterday. What do you imagine they will think when they see me still in this dress?" she put to him.

"Look," he began in a softer tone, "the place was almost empty just now. Those people from yesterday are probably at home in bed, nursin' hangovers from the Sunday blow out. Let's go find Sue while we know where she is. C'mon Harry, my neck's on the line here," he reasoned.

She glanced anxiously at the entrance to the club. Damn him and his dead body!

"You're really going to make me go in there, aren't you?" she growled, "Okay, but we had better be quick, and if anyone asks, the story is that I haven't moved all of my clothes back to my house yet, okay?"

"What?" he frowned with confusion.

"It's being decorated. I moved some of my things into Richie's place," she explained.

"Whatever," he shrugged, "Let's go."

Once inside the reception area of the club, Harry was keen to avoid Hannah at the reception desk, since she had seen Dempsey and Harry just before they had got locked in the room the evening before. On their way out, Harry had made use of the fire exit around the back of the building, avoiding that embarrassment. She wasn't so lucky this time though; as soon as they entered, Hannah looked up from her desk and stood, calling out to her and approaching them.

"Harry, are you okay? Richie has been here looking for you. Apparently your mobile phone is off," she said, glancing at Dempsey inquisitively.

Oh great! Well, at least she knew that out of all the people at the club, Hannah was discrete. She would talk to her later and explain… well, at least she'd have to come up with some reasonable explanation.

"Is it?" she said innocently, reaching into her bag and pulling out her phone. "Oh, silly me," she chuckled, looking at the screen, "it's run out of charge. Where is Richie now then?" she asked anxiously.

"He left about ten minutes ago," Hannah replied.

"Okay, well, thanks Han. Listen, we have to dash, got some things to do," she said vaguely, "We'll speak later, yes?"

"Okay, no problem Harry. See you later," Hannah said, returning to her desk.

Phew, now to find Sue quick smart. Harry turned to Dempsey then, only to find, to her consternation, that he wasn't there!

Great! Things were going from bad to worse; now she had a Dempsey loose about the Club!

XxXxXxXxXxXx

Outside, on the lawn, five of the regular club members were just finishing their weekly Monday morning meeting, along with breakfast and the obligatory Bucks Fizz. After all, Doug was never back until later that evening.

"Okay, now that's sorted, what say we have one more of these lovely bubbly bubblies to set us up for the day," suggested one blonde, muscular but very flamboyant male club member.

"Eddie, you are a terrible influence," one woman responded, laughing.

"Don't you know it sweetheart. Come on, pass that bottle over," he replied, to the encouragement of the other four.

"Hello, who's this?" Eddie said in mid pour, watching as a dark haired woman, in a short skirt, belt and the tightest top he'd ever seen… at least in that club… approached them from around the side of the building. "Adrian, have you been frequenting the local strip bars again?" he joked.

"There are no strip bars local to here Eddie. Where have you been the last ten years?" he came back.

Eddie sighed. "At home, waiting for Mr Gorgeous to knock on my door. Ooh, don't look now; she's coming this way."

As the woman got closer, it was even more apparent that she stood out like a sore thumb; she was more dressed for the evening than a Monday morning, and even in the evening, the people in the club didn't dress quite like that.

"Hiya you guys." The woman's voice seemed to emanate every part of that garden with the brashness of its accent. It was as out of place as her clothes were.

The five club members looked up at her in astonishment. Were they supposed to know her?

Eddie, being forever accommodating and open to new acquaintances, stood from his chair to welcome her. The others watched him as though he had lost his mind.

"Hi there lovely lady. Welcome to the madhouse," he joked, gesturing to the table. "Oh goodness, may I say how much I love that bag," he went on.

The woman smiled, lapping up the attention and taking her bag off her shoulder to display it better.

"Thaaanks hunny," she replied, her strong American accent causing damage to their ears. "Got it from Bloomingdales; it's a Gucci original ya know."

"Is it?" Eddie answered in apparent awe. "It's marvellous."

"Geee thanks." She placed her bag on the table, and looked around the group. "I was wonderin', have any of you guys seen Richie around? I was kinda hoping to catch him here this mornin'," she went on. "I'm Bella, Bella Jackson," she said, holding her hand out for Eddie to shake. "Richie's girl, flown in from New York to surprise him."

A shocked silence fell upon the garden. Five pairs of eyes stared at the woman before Adrian finally spoke out.

"Wasn't he here looking for Harry?"

The remaining four pairs of eyes turned to glare at him in horror.

"Who's Harry?" the woman asked, her unshaken hand slowly falling to her side.

More silence.

Eddie's brain went into overdrive, coming up with the perfect answer; he was always at his best under pressure. "Oh, he's just some guy who comes to the club," he replied. "I'm afraid Richie has left for the day sweetie… actually, he's away on business. He'll not be back until…Wednesday," he said, impressing himself with his own lies. "But if you come back then, I'm sure you'll find him."

Well, at least that would give them time, plus, Richie was never there on a Wednesday.

"Oh damn it," she said, sinking onto one of the seats. "And I had such plans for us tonight. Never mind," she went on, waving a dismissive hand, "I'll get to see him Wednesday then. So this looks nice." The woman took in the sight of the breakfast foods left over on the table, and the Bucks Fizz. "Mind if I stay and chat with you guys for a while? Now that I'm here," she said.

Yes, they did mind. One, because she was annoying, two, because she was interrupting their Monday morning fun, and three because one of the girls was sure she'd seen Harry in the club only five or so minutes ago! The girl reached into her bag, pulled out her mobile phone and proceeded to surreptitiously type in a text message underneath the table.

"So, do you guys get many Americans visiting this place?" she asked.

Strange question.

"No," someone finally spoke up.

"Ah, that's a shame. Really? You haven't seen any Americans lately?" Mrs Jackson asked again.

"No Americans sugar, just Richie," Eddie answered, reaching into his pocket when he felt his phone vibrate. He checked the waiting message.

**Harry is in the club somewhere! If we keep this nutter woman here, you go and find Harry. Try to get her out of the club, or at least, make sure she avoids the gardens at all costs! Don't want them bumping into each other. Go Eddie, operation save Harry!**

_Oh my God, Harry!_

Eddie coughed. "Right, well, I must be going now, got lots to do," he said, backing away from the table and turning around after the first few steps, to break into almost a run across the lawn towards the building.

_Oh Harry, sweet princess! I'm going to wring Richie's gorgeous, not so little, neck for him, the lying, cheating rat bag! Oh my God, where is she?_

Eddie flew into the club, through the patio doors, and glanced around the reception area in a panic.

_Which way? Which way?_

He looked from right to left, to right again, down the corridors that lead from the reception.

_Right, I'll go right._

He rushed past the reception, and a startled looking Hannah, to the lifts.

_Which floor, which floor?_

Eddie prodded the button for the lifts vigorously, over and over again.

_Start with the first. Go from there. Stay where you are Harry, I'm coming for you angel!_

Finally, the lift arrived and he jumped in, assaulting the button for the first floor, in the hope that the lift would take him there faster.

_Come on, come on, stupid lift. Oh my Lord, I can't believe this is happening! I'm going to make it all better for you Harry. I'm going to find you a prince, and there will be the most marvellous wedding, and I can be the wedding planner, and you will be the Queen of all the land. Happy ever after. Rotten American millionaires!_

At last, the lift doors opened. Eddie burst out, and rushed down the first floor corridor, checking the rooms as he went.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dempsey had spotted Sue and followed her up some stairs to the first floor, where she had headed for the function hall. She wore her dark hair up, twisted at the back and secured with a gold clip. This, together with the smart black skirted suit, made her look a lot different to the last time he had seen her!

As she entered the function hall, Dempsey held back for a moment, watching her from the doorway. There was clearly going to be some sort of function in there and Sue was rearranging the chairs. After considering his next move, he knocked at the door with one knuckle and entered.

Sue glanced up in the process of carrying one chair across the hall from a stack at the side.

"Hiya, err sorry to interrupt," he said politely, "but I was just wonderin' if you'd seen Harry around?"

Well, that was one way to get talking to her.

"Oh, no sorry, I haven't seen her today," she replied, her bright blue eyes assessing Dempsey with interest.

A sudden recollection of her locked together with Dennis on that desk chair hit him, along with her voice, demanding and husky, which was triggered by the sound of her voice now. So this was weird; she sure as hell behaved differently with her clothes on!

He ventured further into the room. "You want some help with those?" he asked, gesturing to the stacks of chairs.

"Oh, yes…thanks," she answered with surprise.

"No problem," he said, heading for the stacks whilst she was also returning for another chair.

As they both arrived at the same time, she turned to him before attending to the chairs, holding her hand out and saying, "I don't think we've been introduced. My name Susan."

He shook her hand. "James Dempsey."

She smiled, hesitated a moment, and then broke hand contact to return to the chairs.

"So are you a friend of Harry's then?" she asked as she and Dempsey began to align the seats.

"Yeah, we worked as partners, you know, in the police force here," he replied, glancing up at her. "You know she was a cop before?"

"Yes, I think I remember hearing about that," she said over her shoulder.

"What's all the chairs for?" he questioned.

"There's a charity conference going on here tomorrow. I've been roped into helping out," she explained.

Meanwhile, a very flustered Eddie had heard Dempsey and Sue's voices from the other end of the corridor and was heading towards the hall. He was just about to burst into the hall, looking for Harry, when he stopped abruptly at the door, and sprang back behind it.

Dempsey and Sue's conversation inside was suddenly cut short by the entrance, through a door at the back of the hall, of, none other than, Richie.

_No! No, no, no, this can't be! Richie shouldn't still be here! Oh no, my head! Think I'm coming down with a migraine! _

"Sue, I forgot to ask you…" Richie said, hesitating when he noticed Dempsey standing there. "Oh, hi," he said with surprise.

Ooh, he was supposed to have left. This could be awkward. Dempsey hoped in earnest that Harry wouldn't find him at that point, after all, they couldn't very well explain why they had spent the night together… it could lead to questions as to why they were in the office in the first place.

"Hi," Dempsey replied, resuming his work on the chairs with renewed vigour. He had to get this done quickly now, somehow arrange to meet Sue again, find Harry before Richie did, and get out of there!

_Hey, that was Harry's police officer friend. Another American. Hmm, that woman was right after all; there did seem to be a lot more Americans around the place lately._

"Sorry Sue," Richie went on, "I forgot to ask if you wanted me to put aside tickets for you tonight for the meal and jazz band? I meant to ask you earlier."

_Harry, finally!_

Eddie rushed down the corridor to Harry as she made her way towards him…

"Well," Sue said, placing a chair down and fiddling with one ear, "I would love to go, but I've no one to go with, and I'm not playing gooseberry to all you lot."

Brilliant! Things couldn't have worked out better. If he could get her on a date, he would go back to her place and have access to her house.

"Hey, I'm doin' nothin' tonight, what d'ya say we go together?" Dempsey piped up.

Sue studied him for a few moments. "But we don't know each other," she replied, a grin playing at her mouth.

Dempsey glanced at Richie. "You know Harry and Richie, right?"

"Yes," Sue answered.

"Right, well, if you two are going tonight also," he said, addressing Richie, "Then how about we all go together…like a double date," he smiled.

"Would that be alright with you?" Sue asked Richie.

"I don't see why not," Richie replied. "So, I'll put another two tickets aside then. I'll leave them at the entrance for you. Right, now, I really do have to go, I'm late." He turned to leave then but stopped and turned back to Dempsey, pointing at him, "have you by any chance seen Harry?" he asked.

"No," Dempsey replied, shaking his head. Well, he didn't ask when he hadn't seen her. He hadn't seen her in the last five minutes anyway.

"Oh, okay, anyway, see you later tonight," he said, disappearing again through the back door.

"Where are you staying?" Sue asked Dempsey…

"Harry," Eddie cried out as he reached her, throwing his arms around her dramatically.

"Goodness! What on earth is wrong with you Eddie?" Harry replied.

He had to stop himself from blurting the whole drama out to her.

_Focus, focus, got to keep her away from mad woman downstairs._

"Well, I..err, it's…" Eddie struggled desperately for something to say that would distract her enough. "It's… my edge," he finally plumped for, now frantic just to say anything. "I've lost it."

Harry laughed. "I very much doubt that."

"No," he went on, "it's true. I feel like a wilted flower…" Then Eddie noticed what she was wearing. He gasped, "Harriet! You dark horse. Did you stay out all night long last night?"

She bit her lip. "Not exactly."

"Oooh, you did! Don't worry, your secret is safe with me, but I must warn you, if it wasn't Richie you were with, he is in the hall down there," he said, pointing back down the corridor.

Harry's heart lurched nervously. She thought Hannah had said that Richie had left!

Eddie grinned as realization hit him. "Was it that rather delicious police officer friend of yours you were with?"

_And does she know that he's chatting with Richie in the hall? Oh dear, head's now pounding_…_ nerves are in tatters!_

At that point, Eddie was rather confused as to who was supposed to know what, and who was avoiding who.

Harry couldn't stay there chatting to Eddie either; Richie might find her.

"Eddie," she began, a hand on his back, leading him into a nearby room, "Tell me more about this problem of yours."

In the hall, Dempsey and Sue had finally finished arranging the chairs.

"So you wanna meet here then?" Dempsey reconfirmed, "seven thirty, right?"

"Yes," sue smiled. "Looking forward to it."

"Alright, see you seven thirty," Dempsey said, turning to leave.

"Oh, and thanks for the help," she called after him.

"No problem," he called back.

By sheer coincidence, as he was walking back down the corridor, he happened to hear a mobile phone ringing from inside one of the rooms that he passed. It was only when the phone was answered that Dempsey recognised Harry's voice.

He slowly pushed open the door. Her eyes flicked up to his as he entered. She glared at him as she spoke on the phone.

"Oh really, a double date. Would have been nice to be consulted about it Richie. Hmm, Dempsey suggested it, did he…with Sue, right. Yes, okay, see you at seven," she said, hanging up. "Where did you disappear to, or do I need to ask?" she said to Dempsey wryly.


	14. Chapter 14

"Just out of interest," Dempsey said, opening the car door and sliding into the driver's seat of his hire car yet again, "When is Doug due back?"

"Not until tonight. He will be at the function," Harry replied. "Why?"

"Just wonderin'" Dempsey answered vaguely. "So, where's home?" he asked.

Harry watched him thoughtfully for a moment before she replied. Dempsey was busy starting up the car.

"It's actually not far," she finally answered, "just past the turning we made for the dirt track; I'll direct you from there."

"No problem," he replied, speeding out of the driveway.

"You're truly livin' the country life now then," he observed, glancing out of the car door window.

"Well, I suppose so, although I do visit civilisation occasionally Dempsey," she joked.

"Is this where you moved to after you left SI-10?" He'd always been curious about where she had disappeared to.

"Mmm," she nodded.

"I didn't know you had two houses," he pointed out.

She remained silent.

She was being very vague. Dempsey's curiosity was roused further.

"Was this your house then?" he pushed.

"Not mine at the time," she answered a little reluctantly.

Dempsey's attention flicked from the road to Harry. "Is this a secret or somethin'?"

Damn it. Why couldn't he just leave it? "No, don't be silly," she replied casually. "I bought the house off a friend later that year."

She still hadn't answered his question. "Anyone I know?" he went on. "Anyone from the Club?" he added as an afterthought.

Another quick glance in her direction and Harry was staring out of the side window, biting her thumb nail.

"Harry?"

"What?"

"Anyone from the club?" he repeated, determined to find out who now.

She shifted in her seat. "It's the third road on the right from here," she said, pointing out of the window before adding quickly. "Just Doug."

Hmm, Doug again. So maybe Dempsey wouldn't even have thought that much about her buying the house off Doug if she hadn't been so reluctant to give away that information. But then again, maybe he would; there was something about this whole Doug situation that intrigued him.

They spent the next few moments in silence, each with their own thoughts, until just before they reached Harry's house when she sighed, and turned in her seat to him.

"Dempsey, about tonight, do you really think it is a good idea? I mean, first of all, you can't just leave the body in the back of here. We can't wait until tonight to find those discs," she put to him.

"Gettin' back to Sue's house is the perfect way for me to find them," he replied. "And besides, I'm gonna have to do something with the stiff anyway, 'cause who's to say the discs will clear me for sure… if she has them at her place at all," he added.

"Right," she huffed, turning back to stare straight ahead of her with her arms crossed. "So, are you going to sleep with her?" she asked abruptly.

His eyes flicked to Harry. "Would it bother you if I did?"

It sprung to her lips to deny that, but she changed her mind at the last minute, turning back to him once more. "You know what Dempsey, yes, yes it would! Here I am risking prison to help you, and all you can think about is getting Sue into bed! If the discs are probably not going to be there, then why waste time with tonight?"

"Calm down; we gotta start somewhere…" Plus, he had the gut feeling that it was at the Club where he would find all the answers he needed, so spending time there, talking to the members, was where his priorities lay. Of course, he couldn't tell Harry that; she was too damn touchy about her precious Club! "... besides, my main priority tonight is getting' my hands on those discs," he added.

"Hmm," she responded, eyeing him suspiciously.

But what else did he want to get his hands on?

"So, what do you plan on doing with the body then?"

"Oh, I plan on makin' the most of that in Doug's office tonight; I'm hopin' Doug won't be around… or Dennis," he grinned, glancing sideways at her. "Oh, you meant the body in the trunk," he said, feigning innocence. She gritted her teeth. He chuckled. "Only one thing to do," he replied, "bury it."

"Ha, really?" She knew he'd say that. "If you think I'm helping you to bury a body you must be out of your mind."

"Oooh, Lady Harriet gets so cranky when she hasn't had her beauty sleep," he taunted. "Don't worry, I'll see to it. I also need somewhere to stay. I saw some small place advertising rooms down the road from the club back there. Think I'll go check that place out," he informed her.

Too bloody close! "They have hotels in town you know," she pointed out.

"Nah, think I'll stay back there," he said decisively.

She sighed. "My house is on the right here."

The irony of it; she had actually left her old job and moved houses to ensure that he was out of her life. Now he was staying in the bed and breakfast down the road!

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Right, I'm gonna go find a room for tonight, and I'll take another look at the body..." Dempsey said, after pulling up in Harry's front drive.

Harry glanced at him dubiously. Goodness knows what state the body was in now!

"...I know, I'll deal with the body," he said, reading her mind, "but I need to look for clues first. Then we gotta to go back to the club to take another look around the crime scene. I'll pick you up in say, an hour," he informed her, glancing at his watch.

"What? What about my bath?" she came back.

"You got an hour," he repeated.

"Ohh, no, no, an hour is not nearly enough time for a bath, particularly considering last night," she stressed.

"Harry, cmon, I gotta take a look around and I need you there or people might ask questions. Look, take a shower and then after, I promise I'll leave you to take the longest bath you want," he assured her.

She sighed. "We have a look around; I'll take my car this time. Then I'll drop you off and I'll see you at the club later, no sooner," she emphasised, opening the car door and slipping out of the seat. "That is unless we come up with enough evidence to not warrant you going tonight," she added, bending to speak to him through the open car door.

"Ain't gonna find conclusive proof without those discs," he replied, his attention diverted to the loose folds at the front of her dress as she bent.

She tutted and stood, taking a step backwards to say, "Go, so I can have my shower!" Then she slammed the car door shut and strolled away.

He watched the way her hips swayed as she walked, before calling out,

"Hey, Harry..."

She turned at her front door. "What now?"

"You got a shed round the back?"

"Yes, why?" she answered.

"Mind if I take a look?" he asked.

She frowned. "I don't even want to know," she replied, turning back to unlock the door.

Before getting out of the car, he took one last, longing glance at that backless dress. He really had grown quite attached to it.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Dempsey drove straight back to the house he had seen advertising rooms. It was a quaint whitewashed building, with ivy and flowers climbing up the walls and a small front garden. He rang the front door bell a few times before a frail, smiling, elderly lady answered.

"Hello, can I help you?" she asked.

"Yeah," he smiled. "I was lookin' for a room."

"Then you came to the right place," she replied, showing him into the house.

The lady chatted away to him as he filled in a registration form. She explained that her son helped with the upkeep but that she had run the bed and breakfast for thirty years and didn't really need his help. Dempsey doubted it, but admired the woman's resolve.

The room she allocated him was small but clean and bright, if not a little flowery. It over looked the front of the house, and the fields surrounding it. Dempsey could just about see the Club building if he leant out of the window.

He had intended to deal with the body in the truck as soon as he had secured a room, however, on seeing the on suite bathroom, he changed his mind and decided to take a quick shower. Like Harry, he was pretty keen to shed the clothes he had been wearing for over twenty four hours now. Besides, he wasn't exactly looking forward to checking the body over. A shower would prepare him more for the ordeal.

The hot stream of water was a welcome relief, easing the tension from his muscles that had built up from the cramped conditions on the flight, and later on that sofa. He let his mind wander from the daunting task ahead of him and marvelled at just how much had unfolded between Harry and himself over the space of just one day and night. Not only had he found Harry again, which he hadn't been entirely sure that he would be able to do so fast, but things between them were just as hot… possibly even more. It wasn't just one sided on his part either. Okay, so he couldn't be one hundred per cent sure of that, but he was fairly certain that she was feeling some kind of spark there too. The question was, what, if anything, would she do about it?

Damn, but now, since spending the night with her in that room, he had this constant aching inside of him; he'd forgotten that feeling he got when he was around her. But right at that moment, it was even worse. The aching he'd experienced when working with her before was his body telling him that he wanted what was continually flaunted in front of him, but refused. The aching he had now was of a burning intensity brought on by something that had been started and then abruptly stopped. His brain had processed the feel of Harry's panties and thighs as 'sex time'. Not just any old 'sex time' either, but 'sex time' with the woman he'd craved for for years. The seven years apart, knock out white dress and night on a sofa with her had finally threatened to take away all his control; he was like an alcoholic in a liquor store. It was probably a good job those cleaners had come in when they did, because if she'd woken up and he'd seen anything close to the smallest sign from her that she wanted his hands where they were, he'd have become like a beast unleashed.

Finally, once thinking about those early morning minutes on the sofa, and the fact that Harry was at that moment also showering, had driven his body to its limits, Dempsey was forced to jump out of the shower, get changed and focus on the task ahead of him.

Luckily, Harry had kept a shovel in that shed of hers. Dempsey drove back to the clearing that Harry had directed him to the day before. He drove deeper into the woodland, found a remote spot and got out of the car.

Looking at the body, the face now white, the lips blue, he almost felt guilty, as though he had been the murderer himself. He had to remind himself of the atrocities he had discovered at the hands of the Borelli brothers to continue with what he knew must be done.

He searched the pockets of the thick, padded coat Roberto was wearing, pulling out an aeroplane ticket, which Dempsey folded and slipped into his pocket to examine later, a passport, and a wallet. There was nothing else there that Dempsey needed. He sure as hell didn't want the wedge of bank notes; Roberto could be buried with his own blood money.

Before Dempsey closed the trunk door, in order to begin the grim task of digging a hole, he noticed a tear in the coat at Roberto's side. Unzipping the coat, he revealed a bullet injury in Robertos abdomen. Why hadn't he thought of checking the body better before? Okay, so he was shot twice; it looked like some sort of struggle. It proved one thing however, Roberto wasn't killed at point -blank range. Dempsey was even more convinced now that there must have been someone from the club involved. He slammed the trunk door shut, and the disturbing sight of Roberto's body disappeared. Now he had some serious physical work ahead of him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Dempsey screeched to a halt on Harry's front drive and bolted out of the car, rushing to the front door and searching for a doorbell. He was seriously late and anticipated a furious looking Harry waiting for him. To his surprise though, he heard no sign of life at the other side of the door. He banged again. Still no answer. Hmm.

Making his way around the side of her house, he headed for the back door he'd noticed whilst raiding her garden shed. It didn't look too difficult to break into. Harry should really fix that. The door opened after not very much coaxing and Dempsey cautiously entered. Well, it wasn't as if he hadn't broken into Harry's house before.

"Harry?" he called out, searching the downstairs rooms for her.

No reply.

Dempsey headed up the stairs, wondering if she'd finally lost all patience with him and gone out somewhere. He was to be proved wrong however, the first sign being Harry's white dress, which she had stepped out of and left discarded on the landing. He came to an abrupt halt in front of it, a sudden wave of excitement hitting him at seeing that dress, now off her body…the dress that he'd imagined slipping off her so many times the previous night. Wow, she really had been desperate to get out of that dress; it was quite unlike Harry to be so slapdash. He smiled at the thought of a private Harry, a little careless, without the need to put on airs and graces for the people around her… uninhibited. It was hard for him to imagine a Harry like that. Then he lifted his eyes from the dress and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

For a moment, until he realized better, he thought he was actually seeing Harry completely naked! The door of the room almost directly in front of him was ajar and, through the crack, he had a clear view of a bath, a frosted glass shower screen and Harry's head and shoulders. Her head was leant on her hand, her elbow resting on the edge of the shower screen, her eyes closed and a gentle smile on her face, as she let the steamy water tumble down her back. Dempsey became aroused, just by observing the look on Harry's face; it was a picture of pure bliss. She really did love bathing, showers or baths, she seemed to enjoy taking just as long for both to enjoy them! The thought of that appealed to him. He wasn't entirely sure why; maybe it was because it involved Harry being naked for long periods of time… she always did say that given half the chance, she could bathe for hours. And speaking of Harry being completely naked… his eyes lowered.

He knew beforehand, from his peripheral vision and the initial glance he'd got, that he wasn't going to be able to see her clearly, but the thought that the pink, fleshy, blurry outline of her body indicated that a naked Harry was behind there, just feet away… with just a sheet of glass between his eyes and her body, was enough to tip Dempsey into 'beast' mode. The ache was turning into a furious throb.

He blinked his eyes a few times, in the vain hope that it would enable him to see more. Despite this failing to bring any more clarity to the shower screen, which was probably obscuring Harry even further from the coating of steam it had collected, Dempsey was more than happy to stand there all day watching her, with the added excitement that he might get at least a quick peek of something at any point. Besides, it was quite fascinating getting this rare glimpse into the private world of Harry… not to mention the excitement Dempsey felt from doing something that he really shouldn't be doing. He should look away. Would he? Like hell he would! All's fair in love and war… and that must also include raging frustration too. If she wasn't going to go to bed with him, it was only fair that take advantage of this unexpected pleasure. Anyway, it wasn't his fault that she'd left the door ajar; how could he help but see? So okay, it also wasn't her fault that he'd broken into her house through the back and she'd thought she was alone, but… small details.

She tilted her head from side to side, her eyes still closed, stretching her aching muscles and allowing the hot water to ease them. Dempsey ran his eyes over the skin that he could see clearly above the glass screen: tanned shoulders and arms, shining and glossy with a sheen of water. She had gorgeous skin.

Then she suddenly moved forward out of the stream of water, and Dempsey's heart lurched nervously. Her eyes were open now. She had picked up a bottle of shower gel; he could see the bright yellow contents of it shining through the frosted glass as she poured some into her hand. She turned then and his heart thundered, with both nervousness for the possibility of being caught out, but even more so for the fact the spray from the shower had hit the glass when she'd moved, clearing some of the steam and giving him a more defined view. Now he was as hot as she looked, his temperature shooting up at the sight of Harry's body in profile. Still he could not see a completely unobstructed view, the frosted glass denied that, however, from that angle, he could see the way her body curved, and boy was that sight stimulating! The length of her legs… the slight curve of her back… her flat stomach… then soft roundedness... Damn it, his eyes couldn't take enough in! It was a good job she couldn't see the look in his eyes though as they trailed paths all over the frosted outline of her body, drinking in the sight of her; pure, uninhibited, mischievous lust twinkled there.

That ache had gone way beyond an ache at that moment. It was almost unbearable. He just wanted to storm in there, feast his greedy eyes on her properly, scoop that fantastic body into his arms and carry her into the bedroom, where he'd make her want him and lock them in there for days, so he could show her just how much he wanted her! Why the hell had his hunger for her become so damn intense since he'd seen her again? It was a real struggle to concentrate on anything else. This sight in front of him wasn't helping either…not that he would, or could, stop looking.

She was soaping herself now with a sponge which she had covered with shower gel and worked into a lather. Stepping back under the stream of water, she pressed the sponge to her neck and squeezed, allowing the soap suds to side down her body. As they slid down her neck, past her collar bone, and disappeared beneath the screen, he pictured them caressing her intimately as they fell… like his hands would. Well, he was as randy as could possibly be already; he may as well just give into it.

She was so sensual; why had he not realized that fully until now? The way she luxuriated in the steamy water, the perfumed soap suds, the slow pleasure she took out of the feel of both on her body. How could he have ever thought she was cold, and uptight? She was creating her very own steam in there! Besides, for him to feel the way he did about her, she had to be sensual for there to be a spark there in the first place... and there always had been that spark. Wierd, he'd never figured all of this out before. Maybe because she did such a good job of hiding this side of herself so well.

Then she shifted again and a foot appeared on the side of the bath from behind the glass. With one leg resting there, she continued to use the sponge to soap her leg, beginning at her ankle and slowly working her way upwards.

Wooah! That's it; keep doing that. Higher, higher…

Dempsey was waiting with bated breath to see how high up her leg she would sponge, when suddenly he realized that she had stopped in mid sponging, her hand stilled on her upper leg. His attention rose to her face that was just visible above the screen. For some reason, she now had her eyes closed again. Weird, why had she just stopped like that? Then he heard her groan. To his ears, the sound was a strange mixture between annoyance and pleasure, he couldn't work out which. She moved again and she must have dropped the sponge because, with her back now pressed against the tiles, she ran both hands through her wet hair and held them there. She almost looked in distress. What the hell was she thinking about now? No time to worry about that though; she had abruptly decided to end her shower and was reaching for a towel. He backed, as quietly as he could, down the stairs again until he reached the bottom.

"Harry!" he called out again.

She appeared at the top of the stairs, descending, wrapped in a towling dressing gown.

"Dempsey!" she replied, "you're absolutely filthy!"

Oh hell, he'd been caught out!

"Hey, it weren't my fault; the door was open," he came back defensively.

"What?" she frowned in confusion. "Dempsey, why are you covered in mud, what door was open, and why are you in my house?"

Oh, she meant that he was dirty from digging! Phew!

"Yeah, that's what I was sayin'," he replied quickly, "The door round the back of ya house was open."

"Open?" she said with concern.

"Well, as good as. You really gotta take better care of security in here," he chastised.


End file.
